#agrees (all of the symptoms are in line) so we have to set up my next physical (because that's never happened. obviously)

[acti-veg]

please can I ask why you are anti eugenics?

as in, why would altering someone’s genes so they don’t have a disposition to develop cancer be bad?

as someone who is pretty sure their genes are responsible for their horrible mental health, if the genes responsible for my disposition towards ocd and depression could have been removed, I don’t see why that would have been bad

wouldn’t it be good if we could alter people’s genes so no one is violent and everyone has a kind & loving nature

I don’t see how that’s a bad thing

I can see how eugenics could potentially be harmful too but I don’t think any of the above would be bad

(just to be very clear, i am NOT advocating for anything horrible like “euthanising the disabled”)

Eugenics is not just gene editing, it is a set of deeply racist, ableist beliefs about human ‘improvement’ on the basis of so-called ‘desirable racial characteristics.’ Eugenics as a concept is inherently wrapped up in white supremacy, homophobia and ableism. It was extremely popular in the west as an idea, it took the Nazis putting it into practice to show us what eugenics in practice actually looks like.

Gene editing sounds good on the basis of curing or preventing human disease, but that is precisely how all controversial science is framed. It is hard to object to editing genes to prevent cancer, but what happens when we start selecting for other traits we deem to be ‘desirable,’ and who gets to decide? The state? Medical professionals? The industrial military complex? Scientists? All of whom have the same biases we all have from being socialised in a deeply prejudiced society?

You say you don’t support anything horrible, but we don’t all agree on what is horrible - what should be kept and what should be lost. Many hearing people would see deafness as uncomplicatedly a medical issue, and assume all deaf people would want a cure. But Deaf culture is vibrant, and many in the community don’t see themselves as in any way needing to be ‘cured.’ Imagine the possibility that someone could edit the potential for anyone else to be part of your group out of the human genome entirely, that we could potentially see cultural genocide of Deaf, disabled and neurodivergent communities done on a systematic scale.

Take depression as an example. Taking away any genetic disposition towards depression is tempting, but then what is to stop us from expanding this same line of reasoning to genetically select for positive dispositions? Is that actually desirable? Taking away the propensity for a natural range of emotions? What would be the an actual impact of that human society? Could we end up ‘curing’ the symptom of a sick society by just editing out the resulting depression, rather than addressing what is actually causing the mental health crisis, beyond just genetics? Could we end up in the dystopia that Huxley envisioned in a Brave New World, but with gene editing instead of soma?

You mention violence, but violence is an evolved response to stressors that is sometimes necessary. I shouldn’t have to spell out why genetically editing a population to be non-violent and good humoured regardless of what is being done to them is bad, and what you’re essentially saying here isn’t very far away from ‘why can’t we edit everyone to be the perfect, passive citizen and consumer?’ Fight or flight is part of our very being, and aggression when it is called for in defence of our loved ones or our own interests is a part of the human condition. Do we really want to lose that? Do we want to cull the propensity for violent resistance from our DNA?

It doesn’t stop at physical traits and overtly negative dispositions, either. We have been able to genetically engineer voles to be monogomous. That is not a joke. Can you imagine what the implications could be for being able to select for behaviours and desires? The state being able to mandate gene editing to avoid disease, slowly turning into gene editing for ‘super soldiers’, then to select for desirable traits in their citizens? Even if democracies wouldn’t do it, history tells us that if the technology is there, someone will.

Before it even gets to the human stages though, animals will bear the brunt of our curiosity. In the famous case of Alba, we created a glowing rabbit for the sake of an ‘art’ project. We have grown an ear on the back of a mouse. We have already selectively bred farmed animals to the point where they suffer constantly, imagine just how horrific it could get if we can edit their genetic sequence cheaply and at scale? Imagine what we would do to them?

These technologies being developed under capitalism brings up even more issues. The wealthy classes have always argued that they are somehow superior, better ‘breeding,’ more intelligent, less lazy. They’ve always been kidding themselves, but genetic editing available only to those who can afford it would make them right. At least initially this technology would be wildly expensive, and before those prices were bought down we’d likely end up with a society that is biologically hierarchical as well as economically and socially. Capitalists would very likely fight to keep it that way, just as they fight to keep themselves economically superior now.

This isn’t just a class issue either, the chances that this technology would be offered to the global population and not just rich western nations are minimal. Environmental racism and cultural ideals could become genetically baked in. We wouldn’t be improving the human race, we’d be ‘improving’ very narrow sections of it, according to a narrow and context dependent definition of what a ‘good’ human looks like. Wealth and social hierarchy could become biologically embedded, with only rich westerners benefiting from these advances. I mean, people in the global south are still dying of malaria, despite us wiping it out in the west in 1950s.

You may dismiss some of this as alarmism, but I think people who are not at least a little bit concerned at these possibilities haven’t thought about the implications of gene editing very much. We’re essentially in the cusp of creating an entirely new species, without really considering what that means. If history tells us anything, it’s that we’re likely to leap into the technology for commercial reasons long before we’ve given proper consideration to the ethical and social implications. That should worry you.

[dismie]

ignore that vagueposting thing from earlier it turns out i had a seizure (well. most likely) today LOLLLLLLLL i was rather cranky afterwards . i am better than venting on the tumblr account. however, i & my friends have unlocked a plethora of new jokes to make. siezed to meet you

[lostfracturess]

not so haunted house — satoru gojo

pairing — professor gojo x female reader

summary — satoru's on a mission to get you into the halloween spirit, and he won't take no for an answer. he's taken you to the town's spooky festival, and plying you with every sugary treat and pumpkin spiced sugary drink he can find. but you draw the line with the haunted house. but knowing satoru, he'll find a way to make it happen.

word count — 4.6 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, friends), penetration, public setting, chance of getting caught, oral (male receiving), satoru gojo is always his own warning.

author's note — hey lovelies, i hope you all have the best time this autumn. and to get even more into the spooky spirit, i wrote a little oneshot sidestory for symptoms and causes couple. but you can read it as a standalone without knowing the main story. and for everyone who reads s&c, this happens sometime after chapter 16 (i guess). happy reading and a spooky time <3

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

"I don't wanna go," you said.

"Aw, come on! It'll be fun!" Satoru insisted.

"I doubt it."

"You're so lame sometimes, you know that?" 

"And you're irresponsible. We can't just ditch work to—"

"Already handled it," he interrupted, taking a big bite of his cinnamon roll.

"Handled what?"

"Cell migration, documentation, report's done, and I even got a head start on the paper. You might wanna give it a once-over later, though."

"Wait, what?" You stopped dead in my tracks, surprise momentarily eclipsing your exhaustion.

"You're the better writer when it comes to this scientific stuff."

"No, I mean—"

Satoru suddenly stopped too, turning to face you. He grinned, a big bright smile from ear to ear. He was hell-bent on getting you into the Halloween spirit, and you reluctantly agreed to go to the Autumn Festival with him, indulging in cinnamon rolls and pumpkin spice lattes.

Every second, he shoved a new treat into your hands. Try this, try that. Pretty sure you were on the fast track to diabetes after this afternoon.

But you'd drawn the line at the haunted house.

You starred at him as the flickering pumpkin lanterns that lined the path of the crowded streets cast soft shadows across his features, making him even more handsome, as if the night itself conspired to make him even more captivating.

"You finished all that already?" you asked, a hint of disbelief in your voice.

"Yeah," he said, taking another bite of his cinnamon roll. "I wanted us to have some fun in between all the lab work."

You stared at him for a second longer, the bustling activity around you fading into the background. Your heart melted a little as his signature grin lit up his pretty features.

Seeing him so carefree and childlike was new, like he was genuinely loving every second of this—the cheesy traditions, the sea of orange, the cinnamon scent that hung heavy in the air. Like for the first time in forever, the weight of his past had lifted from his broad shoulders.

"This must have taken your hours," you said, still not quite getting over how much effort he must've put in.

"Eh, a few hours here and there." He sauntered closer, peering at you over the sunglasses he wore with a baseball cap to keep a low profile. Getting caught out with your professor would've been all kinds of scandalous, after all. "Totally worth it if it means I can spend more time with you."

"We're together all the time."

"I meant outside the lab," he clarified.

"Satoru, we live together."

"Yeah, where all we talk about is work, biochemicals, brains, and how much plastic surgery Naoya would need to be pretty again."

"Don't tell me you don't love that topic," you said dryly, as a chill autumn wind rustled the leaves at your feet.

He tilted his head, his large hand coming up to cup your cheek, his warmth seeping into you. He looked at you with those soft, mesmerizing eyes, making it impossible to deny him anything.

"Okay," you finally relented with a sigh. "Let's go to that haunted house. But just so you know," you added, "I don't scare easy."

He just smiled, smug as ever. "Oh, we'll see about that."

Moments later, you were at the haunted house, Satoru's arm draped casually around your waist. He already had tickets for the two of you, like he just knew you'd give in. Smug bastard indeed. You stepped into the creaky foyer, seemingly one of the only few people there.

The air was thick with the scent of dust and decay, and an eerie silence hung heavy in the dimly lit corridors. Satoru reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll protect you."

You let go of his hand. "I don't need protection," you said before taking the lead and striding into the first room.

The first few rooms were predictably eerie, with cobwebs draped across worn furniture and ghostly figures lurking in the shadows. Flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, creating an illusion of movement in the stillness.

"Not even a little bit scared?" Satoru asked.

"Nope," you replied, popping the 'p' for emphasis.

"You're really killing the fun here, you know." 

He made his way around a corner, and suddenly, a black figure sprang forward, catching him off guard. Satoru jumped slightly, his heart pounding in his chest. "Ah, fuck," he said, trying to regain his composure. "Stupid thing." He pushed the figure aside with his arm and went into the next room.

"Oh, I'm having fun," you said with a smile.

"Don't laugh.”

As you ventured deeper into the house, the scares became more elaborate, the atmosphere more oppressive. The air grew colder, and a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it was a little bit scary after all.

Then, a blood-curdling scream echoed from the room ahead, and you and Satoru whipped around, but nothing was to be seen.

"You know, I was hoping for something different when I had the idea to come here.”

"And what kind were you hoping for?" you asked, pushing the spiderwebs out of your way with disgust, the silky strands clinging to your fingers.

"The kind where you cling to me and scream at every little thing," he said, following your lead.

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" 

He grinned. "Well, I can't deny that would be enjoyable."

The next room was pitch black, the only sound the distant dripping of something liquid. Your heartbeat quickened as you stepped forward, the darkness seeming to swallow you whole. Suddenly, a cold hand grabbed your ankle, and you let out an involuntary yelp, jumping closer to Satoru.

Satoru quickly pulled you close, his strong arm wrapping around your waist as he steadied you. "Not scared, huh?" His voice was a deep rumble in his chest, and you could feel the vibrations against your back.

You pulled away from him. "Shut up. I'm not scared. Just... startled."

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Mhm, sure. Whatever you say, love."

"Let's just keep going," you said, marching forward into the darkness.

But Satoru wasn't about to let you off that easily. He caught up to you in a few long strides, his hand finding yours in the darkness. "You know," he said, "if you need me to hold your hand, all you have to do is ask."

You scoffed, but didn't pull away. "I think I can manage."

"Oh, I'm sure you can. But where's the fun in that?"

Satoru suddenly tugged on your wrist, pulling you flush against his chest. Before you could react, his soft lips were on yours, insistent and demanding. 

For a moment, you stood frozen, your mind reeling from the unexpected turn. But as his lips moved against yours, his tongue teasing the seam of your mouth, you found yourself melting into his embrace, your body molding to his like it was made to fit there.

Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the firm planes of his pecs beneath his shirt, before pushing his baseball cap off his head, letting it fall to the ground forgotten. 

His silky, white hair fell down into his forehead, the soft strands brushing against your skin as you tangled your fingers in his locks, deepening the kiss. He groaned against your mouth, the sound sending heat straight to your core, igniting a fire in your veins that only he could quench.

His arms tightened around your waist, pressing your body impossibly closer to his. The haunted house faded away, the eerie sounds and spooky decorations forgotten as you lost yourself in the feel of him.

His tongue delved into your mouth, exploring, tasting, with a skill that never failed to leave you weak in the knees. His large hands roamed over your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake, even through the fabric of your sweater.

"You know," he said between heated kisses, his voice a low rumble that you felt in your bones, "I kinda like this side of you."

"What side?" you asked, breathless.

"The side that is scared, the side that needs me.”

"Because you need to be needed?"

"Needed by you, yes," he said, his blue eyes dark, before he walked you backwards until your back hit the wall, his body pinning you in place. “Always by you. Only by you.”

His lips left yours, trailing hot, wet kisses along your jaw, down the column of your neck. You tilted your head back, giving him better access.

"Satoru," you breathed, your fingers tightening in his hair.

"What happened to being able to manage on your own, hmm?"

You tugged on his hair, bringing his lips back to yours. "Shut up and kiss me."

"With pleasure," he murmured, before capturing your lips once more in a searing kiss that stole the breath from your lungs.

You lost track of time as you kissed, your bodies intertwined, hands exploring, breaths mingling. It was only when a particularly loud and high scream echoed through the haunted house that you broke slightly apart, chests heaving.

"We should...probably get out of here," Satoru said, his voice rough, his gaze fixed on your lips.

"Why leave?"

His lips twitched into a smirk. "Yeah, why indeed."

Satoru took your hand, his long fingers intertwining with yours as he pulled you down a darkened hallway, away from the main path of the haunted house. 

He tried a few doorknobs until one finally gave way. Peeking inside, he tugged you into what appeared to be a dimly lit storage room, filled with discarded props, old furniture, and cobwebs that looked a little too real for comfort.

As soon as the door closed behind you, he had you pressed up against it, his hard body pinning you in place as his lips found yours again. Your hands roamed over his muscular back, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath as the kiss deepened, your puls racing.

In one smooth motion, he hoisted you up, his large hands gripping your thighs as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you further into the room, never breaking the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours.

Distantly, you registered a lone flashing red light in the corner, what seemed to be a security camera. Satoru noticed it too. 

Tearing his lips away from yours with a muttered curse, he set you down gently, your body sliding against his in a way that made you both shudder.

He strode over to the device. With a sharp tug, he disabled the camera and tossed it aside carelessly, before turning back to you with a heated look that made your core clench with need.

His hands found your waist once more, pulling you flush against him. His lips crushed on yours, the kiss hungry, desperate, all tongues and teeth. 

Your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel his skin against yours. Satoru shrugged out of the fabric impatiently, tossing it aside without a second thought before his hands slipped beneath your sweater. His thumb brushed over your nipple through the thin lace of your bra.

You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. Your hands found his belt buckle, undoing it with deft fingers before popping the button of his pants and sliding down the zipper.

You could see the outline of his hard, thick cock straining against the fabric of his boxers, begging to be freed. 

Sinking to your knees, the hard floor cold against your skin, you looked up at him through your lashes. His breath hitched as he realized what you were about to do. 

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down slowly, teasingly. Satoru's cock sprang free, hard and thick and perfect.

You wrapped your hand around the base, giving him a few slow, deliberate strokes as you maintained eye contact, watching as his blue eyes darkened.

Satoru's head fell back, a guttural groan rumbling in his broad chest, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Fuck, your hand feels so good," he panted, his fingers threading into your hair, gripping just tight enough.

You leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick the bead of precum from his tip, the salty-sweet taste of him on your tongue.

Satoru hissed, his hips moved forward slightly, needing more. You wrapped your lips around him, taking him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his shaft as you savored the feel of him heavy against your tongue.

"Fuck, yes, just like that," Satoru praised, his grip on your hair tightening as you began to move your head, taking him deeper with each pass until the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat.

You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard as you worked him with your tongue, tracing the thick vein on the underside of his shaft. 

Satoru's moans filled the room, echoing off the walls, his hips rocking forward to meet your mouth, fucking your face with shallow thrusts.

"God, you take me so good, love," he groaned, his words dissolving into a low, drawn-out moan as you took him particularly deep. "Fu—Fuck.” He fell forward slightly, bracing his hands on the wall behind you.

You sucked him harder, your hand working what you couldn't fit in your mouth, twisting and stroking in time with your tongue. 

Satoru's breaths were coming in short, sharp pants now, his thighs tensing under your free hand. You could tell he was close, his cock twitching against your tongue, the taste of his precum becoming more intense.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum.” His deep voice strained and rough. "You're gonna make me fucking cum."

But just as you were sure he was about to come, Satoru's hand tightened in your hair, pulling you off him. You looked up, confusion in your eyes as you met his heated gaze.

"What's wrong?" you asked. "Was it not good?"

Satoru shook his head, a strained, breathy laugh escaping him. "Fuck, no, it was perfect. Too fucking perfect. I just..." He paused, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control. "I can't come like this. Not this time." 

He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your slick lower lip. "I need to cum inside you. Need to feel you around me."

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, need pooling hot and heavy in your belly. Slowly, maintaining eye contact, you ran your tongue along the underside of his cock, flicking over the sensitive head. Satoru hissed again.

"And not like this?" you purred, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his weeping tip, your tongue swirling along the slit.

"Fucking tease.” His large hand fisted in your hair, dragging the head of his cock along your tongue, shuddering at the sensation, before reluctantly pulling away. "Why you gotta make this so hard for me, huh?"

He helped you to your feet, spinning you around and pressing you against the wall in one swift motion. His hands roamed your body, sliding over your waist, your hips, before swiftly undoing your pants and shoving them down.

Satoru’s large hand roaming over your ass, the other sliding between your legs, his long fingers pushing your underwear to the side and brushing against your dripping core. 

He pressed against your swollen clit, making you cry out and arch your hips back into him. "I can't fucking wait anymore,” he said.

His hands then gripped your hips, turning you to face the wall. You braced your hands against the cool surface, biting your lip. You felt the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance, teasing you.

With one smooth, hard thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, stretching you just right, drawing moans from both of you. "Oh, fuck," you gasped, your nails scrabbling at the wall as you adjusted to the sudden fullness.

"My god, why do you always feel so fucking good," Satoru panted, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his hot breath fanning over your neck as he gave you a moment to adjust. "So tight, so fucking perfect. Like you were made for me."

"Move, Satoru," you breathed, very well aware that you were literally in the storage room of a haunted house and could get caught any second. "Fucking move."

"You're really not gonna let me enjoy this haunted house, are you?"

"Do you want to get caught with your pants down or what?"

"Then you'd better be quiet, love," he said. "Or I might just have to gag you with my fingers."

"You're impossible," you groaned, pushing your hips back against him, desperate for friction. "Just fucking move already."

Satoru didn't need to be told twice. He set a hard, deep pace, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the small room. 

One hand gripped your hip hard enough to leave bruises, while the other worked your clit, driving you closer to the edge with each skilled touch, each deep stroke of his perfect cock inside you.

You could feel your orgasm building, coiling tight in your lower belly. "Satoru, I'm close," you gasped, your nails scratching against the wall as you tried to find purchase. "Fuck, Satoru."

"Not yet, love." 

Quickly, Satoru's hand closed around your hip, spinning you around and lifting you up effortlessly like you weighed nothing. You clung to him, breathless and dizzy as he walked you over to a nearby table, sweeping aside the dusty props and cobweb-covered decorations littering its surface. 

He sat you down on the edge, your legs automatically wrapping around his trim waist to pull him closer, desperate to have him inside you again.

Satoru's warm hands slid up your thighs, over your hips, coming to rest on your waist as he leaned in to kiss your neck. "God, you're so fucking beautiful," he breathed, his lips brushing your skin. "Did I tell you how lucky I am to have you?"

"Satoru, we're literally fucking in a haunted house, maybe save the love confession for later?"

"You really are no fun during spooky season," Satoru groaned, his cock twitching against your thigh, leaving a trail of precum on your skin. He reached between your bodies, lining himself up with your entrance before thrusting forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, deep stroke.

You threw your head back, a moan escaping your lips at the maddening feeling of him filling you so completely. Satoru set a steady pace, his hips rolling against yours, the new angle allowing him to hit that spot inside you that made you feel like you were flying and falling all at once.

"Fuck, you feel so good around my cock," Satoru panted, his forehead resting against yours as he moved, his breath mingling with yours.

Your nails raked down his back, urging him on, wanting him deeper, harder, faster, consequences be damned. Satoru obliged, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more urgent, the rickety table creaking beneath you with each powerful surge of his hips.

"Touch yourself," Satoru growled, his voice strained. "I wanna feel you come around my cock."

You did as he said, your hand lowering between your bodies to find your clit, your hips bucking up to meet Satoru's thrusts as you chased your release.

"That's it, love," Satoru encouraged, his eyes dark as he watched you. "Just like that. Fuck, you're so hot when you touch yourself."

His thrusts became more frenzied.The table creaked and groaned beneath you, threatening to collapse at any moment, but you didn't care. You were too far gone.

Your fingers moved faster, more urgently, as you felt your orgasm building. Satoru's eyes never left yours, his gaze burning with a fierce intensity as he watched you. His lips were parted, his chest heaving, and his forhead was slick with sweat.

Suddenly, your body convulsed, your muscles contracting around Satoru's cock as you came. His eyes squeezed shut, hissing through his teeth as he felt your muscles clamp down around him.

"Ah, fuck," he moaned. "What are you doing to me?" His body tensed, his muscles straining as he fought to hold on, to keep going, to make it last. But it was too late. 

He thrust once, twice, and then he was coming, his cock pulsing inside you as he emptied himself, filling you with warm sticky cum. As the last of his cum dripped out of him, his body relaxed, his chest heaving with exertion. 

His forehead dropped to yours, his eyes closed in bliss as he savored the aftermath. "Fuck," he panted, his voice barely audible. "You're going to be the death of me."

“You wanted to go to that haunted house,” you said. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as he caught his breath. 

He laughed. “Yeah, you’rer right.” His cock was still hard, still buried deep inside you, and you could feel his cum dripping out of you, a slow, sticky trickle.

He smiled, a lazy, sated smile that made your heart skip a beat. "God, I can't get enough of you." He was just about to lean in for a kiss when a sharp knock on the door startled you both. 

Your eyes widened in panic. 

"Hello?" a gruff voice called from the other side. It had to be a staff member.

"Oh, shit," you hissed, frantically grabbing for your clothes.

"I'm sorry, but this area is off-limits to guests," the voice called again, sounding more irritated.

Satoru quickly pulled his pants back on and finished buttoning his shirt, then reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pulled you close to his side and towards the door.

With his free hand, Satoru unlocked the door and flung it open, plastering on his most charming smile. Before you stood a grumpy middle-aged man who reeked of cigarettes and had dark circles under his eyes.

"Our bad, man," Satoru said smoothly, fishing out a few crisp yen bills from his pocket and pressing the money into the staff member's hand. "For the camera," he added with a wink.

The man looked at the bills, then back at Satoru, confusion written all over his weathered face. Without waiting for a response, Satoru dragged you out the door after him, brushing past the bewildered staff member. 

He led you quickly down the hallway, his grip on your wrist firm as he navigated through the winding passages. You didn't stop until you were outside the haunted house, the chilly night enveloping your flushed skin.

"Well, that was a close one," Satoru chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Haunted houses aren't so bad after all, huh?"

You leaned forward, hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath, your legs still shaky. "Shut up.” You swatted at him halfheartedly.

"Wanna head back to the festival?" 

You made your way back to the festival, hand in hand, his baseball cap and sunglasses back in place. 

You strolled through the stalls, taking in the various decorations and trinkets on display. Jack-o'-lanterns grinned toothily from every corner, their flickering candles casting an fiery glow on the revelers' faces. The scent of cinnamon, roasted almonds, caramel and the earthy smell of fallen leaves wafted through the air.

Suddenly, something caught Satoru's eye and he tugged you towards it. It was a cute little stall decked out in shimmering black and orange, laden with an assortment of whimsical accessories. Pointy witch hats adorned with glittery stars, vampire fangs that glinted in the light, and masquerade masks decorated with shimmering sequins and feathers.

Satoru's eyes sparkled with childlike wonder as he rummaged through the collection, his face split in a wide grin. He plucked something from the display and held it up. "Hold still for a sec.” He tilted his head as he considered how it might look on you.

In his hands was a cute headpiece, twisted black wire interwoven with tiny, glittering bats and shimmering autumn leaves that seemed to dance in the breeze. He placed it gently on your head, his fingertips grazing your temples as he adjusted it just so.

"There," he said softly. "Absolutely beautiful."

You quirked an eyebrow at him. "Is that so?"

"Mhmm," he hummed. "In fact, it looks so good on you, I might just have to fuck you again, but with that on top this time."

As if on cue, the stall owner fumbled with a display, sending a cascade of glittery masks tumbling to the ground with a clatter. You shot Satoru a pointed look, your eyes screaming, 'See what you did?'

"Ah, sorry about that." Satoru called out to the flustered vendor, flashing her a charming smile as he pressed a generous wad of bills into her hand. "Keep the change, yeah? For the trouble."

Before the poor woman could respond, Satoru had whisked you away, his laughter ringing out like music in the crisp night air.

Moments later, you found yourself with a generous glass of spiced pumpkin wine in hand, Satoru having snagged two mugs from a nearby vendor.

With the decorative headpiece perched atop your head and the overly cute Halloween mug in your hand, you probably looked like the biggest Halloween fan around. "I'm starting to think you're actually enjoying this.”

He grinned. "Really? What gave it away?"

Just then, something caught Satoru's eye, and he came to an abrupt halt, nearly causing you to slosh your drink all over yourself. His gaze fixed on a colorful shooting gallery booth. Rows of stacked thimbles painted with witches, ghosts, and pumpkins enticed passersby to try their hand at winning a prize. 

Satoru grinned at you and before you knew it, you found yourself participating in yet another classic Halloween fun activity with him. He smirked, rolling up his sleeves with an air of confidence. "You ever played before, love?"

"Hmm," you hummed, stepping up to the counter and setting your pumpkin spice wine aside. The attendant passed you each a toy rifle, and you took your positions.You rolled your shoulders and lifted the rifle.

Satoru’s first volley of shots went wide, but he managed to hit 3 out of 5, the thimbles clattering as they toppled over. "Warm-up round," he said with a nonchalant shrug, his competitive streak already showing. 

He turned to you with his signature grin, but it quickly morphed into an open-mouthed gape as you proceeded to hit all 5 with nonchalant precision, barely even pausing between shots.

You blew imaginary smoke from the barrel of your toy gun, a smug smile playing about your lips as you reached for your forgotten wine. "You were saying?"

Satoru blinked at you, his mouth open. "Okay, remind me never to piss you off again.”

"You know I'm never letting you live this down, right?"

"Yeah, I figured as much," he said, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought back a smile. He grabbed you around the waist, pulling you flush against him as he captured your lips in a kiss.

A pointed cough from the attendant broke you apart. "Your prize, miss?" the man prompted, gesturing to the array of plushies and plastic trinkets.

"Oh, I think I'll let the loser choose," you said airily, shooting Satoru a wink before walking away.

As the night wore on, you lost yourselves in the simple joy of each other's company, sharing laughter, playful challenges, and stolen kisses amidst the twinkling lights and paper streamers.

By the time the festival began to wind down, you were exhausted, your cheeks aching from smiling and your sides sore from laughter. Satoru pulled you close, his arm draped around your shoulders, as you made your way toward the exit and back home.

Maybe Halloween festivals weren't so bad after all.

author's note: hello again, sorry i've been quite offline these days, but i hope the short story made you smile (or whatever reaction you had to it lol). this should take place after chapter 16 but yk i haven't written that yet haha. so just imagine a happy satoru for this, after a huge burden got off his shoulders.

have a great day or night whenever you read this and and an even more great halloween and holiday season <3

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[slushycoookie]

My Husband Has a Symbiote! Pt.3

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3

Relationship: Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Content: Mentions of infertility, slight angst, Miguel shows off his geneticist side, Rough sex, Minors DNI!!

Summary: After months of Miguel having the symbiote, it's not working like you thought it would.

A/N: It took me eons to write this part but I'm back! We only have a few more parts of this story before I move on to something else. Enjoy!

You never thought you’d be sitting at the table with an alien. Although, a few years ago, you didn’t think you’d be married to a superhero. Now look at you. Eyeing the symbiote’s head across the table, drinking hot chocolate. You didn’t want to leave them out as they had cups of coffee. And you heard they like chocolate.

“Does it even have a name?”

Miguel and his symbiote looked at each other, “We aren’t really on a first-name basis.”

“You mean, you let this thing fuse with you and you don’t know its name?” You held back smacking your forehead. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

“I am.” Your husband reassured you, “Their name is Ravage. I didn’t name them that, they did.” You watch the alien smile, sharp teeth in clear view.

“Why Ravage?”

Ravage uses a tendril to imitate shrugging, “It sounds cool.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

“How long were you planning on keeping them?”

“Until you get pregnant.” Miguel explained, “I wasn't planning on keeping them forever.”

You folded your arms, “And what were you going to do with them once I got pregnant?” You raised a brow at his delayed response. The symbiote wasn’t saying anything either, waiting for Miguel to answer.

“Find a new host was a general idea. But you don’t need to worry about that.” You wanted to ask more questions but he held your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze, “Let’s keep trying.”

You squeezed his hand back, your lips forming into a smile. You absolutely wanted to keep trying but thought it was good to set some ground rules. As much as you enjoyed having sex with him every day, you still had lives. You agreed to indulge in the baby-making process around ovulation periods to give the highest possible chance of conception. If either of you were in a particular mood, it was okay too.

After having the conversation, sex with the symbiote was stress-free. You took the enlarged cock with ease, got filled with his seed, and relaxed right after. It was nice at first. But the results weren’t there.

No clear signs of pregnancy after a few months of Miguel obtaining Ravage. You thought you weren't having normal symptoms outside of the usual fatigue and aching joints. So you bought a pregnancy test. Only to be disappointed as the single line appeared in your vision. Pregnancy tests weren’t always accurate so you asked Lyla to conduct a scan on you.

Only for you to come up short.

Before Miguel’s newfound symbiote friend, you were trying to have a baby for eight months. You all did research. You knew it could take a while for conception to take place. Yet, it’s been almost a year, and no progress.

Hopelessness clouded over your mind. Thoughts began to settle in, accusing yourself of the reason why you couldn’t get pregnant. It was all your fault. Miguel said it would be difficult, not impossible. But that’s what it felt like. Impossible.

The thoughts wouldn’t go away. Not as Miguel’s lips peppered your neck, hands fondling your soft thighs. Ready to go for a round in their bedroom after a long day at work. In any other situation, you would’ve felt good. But all you could focus on was being a failure.

“I missed you today…” Miguel’s low tone resonated in your ears. A gentle squeeze on your breast as he continued to your shoulder, tugging on the collar of your shirt for more access to your skin. “Did you miss me?”

You hummed in response, raising your arms for him to remove your shirt. Your stomach twisted at his loving gaze on your naked top half. You knew he loved you. Yet, you were torturing him by not being able to provide what he wanted.

“You okay?”

You blinked, realizing you weren't reciprocating. “Yeah. I’m fine.” You kissed him, distracting yourself with the unnecessary thoughts. Not wanting to succumb to them as you were laid flat on your back. Hands moving from under his shirt to lift it over his head. You focused on his lips moving down your body. Open-mouth kisses covering your upper half.

“Can't wait until these are full of milk…” Miguel said, running his tongue over the swell of your breasts. “Getting ready for our baby…”

You shuddered as his tongue ran over your nipple, sucking on your breast while fondling the other.

All you thought of was you were trying for nothing. This will be another session that will lead you to not getting pregnant. Another disappointing endeavor. Because of you. All because of you.

“Nena?” He called, causing you to perk up. You were doing it again. Not reacting.

“Yeah?”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

You blinked, “Oh, I'm sorry. What did you say?”

Miguel hovered above you, eyes searching your face. “Nothing. Are you sure you're okay? Did something happen at work?”

“No, no I'm fine.” You cradled his face in his hands, giving him another kiss. “Really.”

He sighed, leaning back and pulling her towards him. You were held in his arms, sheltering you from the outside world. “You're not fine. You're thinking. And with your face, I know it's not good.”

Curse your husband for knowing you so well.

“It's nothing you need to worry about.” You buried your face in his hairy chest. Hearing him suck his teeth.

“I always worry about you when something’s wrong.” The hold on you tightened in reassurance. “Now tell me.”

You struggled, fighting back the tears. “This isn't working. None of this.”

“What? Baby, we did know this was going to take a while.”

“I know, but-” Your breath stuttered, cheeks getting wet, “I'm letting you down. I just can't seem to get pregnant.”

Miguel shook his head, pulling you away to assess the damage. He wiped away your tears, using his shirt to remove the incoming snot. “Don't say that. If anything, it's my fault. My sperm isn't doing a good job. With or without the symbiote.”

“You're not the one with an infertile diagnosis…” You harshly laughed, blinking more tears away.

He helped you put on your shirt. “I don't like when you're upset. You know that, right?” You nodded. “We have to keep trying. And if it doesn't work, then we have other options. Like adoption.”

You watched your husband lay beside you, a strong arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. Your head on his chest, his lips kissing your hair. He was right, there were other options. But you couldn't be comfortable with not trying anything you could. Before giving up.

“You could use me.”

Ravage's head hovered above your body in bed. Your eyes darted to Miguel’s sleeping form, unsure if you should wake him. Wait, what did they say? “I could…use you?”

“Yes.” Their smile may appear sadistic if it was anyone else. You kind of saw them as being genuine, “We can fix you. Cure you.”

“Can you? I didn't know symbiotes could do that.”

“Your husband failed to spare the details.” They went closer, you getting to see his intense eyes. “We make everything better. From physical to genetic…” Goosebumps formed on your skin as he emphasized the last word. There had to be a catch.

“If you knew this, why didn't you latch on to me and do it already? Like that time at the lab?”

Ravage huffed with frustration, “We need someone willing. You wanted us to that time. We could do it by force but then…” He trailed off, hoping you would get the idea. You knew if that happened Miguel would be on the alien in a heartbeat. If you were to consider it, he'd have to know. It is your symbiote now too. It wouldn't hurt to share.

“No, absolutely not.”

Miguel declined when you brought it up during dinner the next day. You had to sit with the idea yourself before bringing it up to him. Understand the pros and cons of letting a foreign entity connect with you. You weren't a spider-person either. No superpowers or anything to help you resist. You'd be going in completely vulnerable.

Of course, he wouldn't like it.

“Why?” You asked, “It could fix what I have going on with me.”

“It's only temporary.” Miguel warned, “Once you part with it, it's only a matter of time before what you have comes back. Maybe even worse than before.”

“Okay, but once I get pregnant, it won't matter anymore.”

His brows furrowed, “This is an alien we're talking about here. That's fusing with you. It's dangerous.”

“You didn't ask for my permission when you fused with it! Why should I ask for yours?”

“Because this is different. I'm Spider-Man, you're not.”

You rolled your eyes, “Now, we're having this conversation again?” Miguel huffed, face lowered as he went silent, focusing on his meal. You hated it when he stopped talking in the middle of an important conversation. You usually understood and were patient, but now you couldn't hold your tongue. “If I had powers, would you consider it?”

“No.” He said, his voice strained.

“Then what difference does it make?”

“Because you’re my partner.” Miguel stared at you, hard red eyes into your soul. The grip on his fork was strong enough for him to bend it, holding back his true feelings. “I don't want anything to happen to you. Symbiotes are unpredictable. Dangerous. I'd rather put myself through that and not you.”

“That’s not fair. We’re supposed to be a team.” His face softened as you gazed at him with soft eyes.

“We are.”

Miguel stood, not wanting the rest of his dinner. He mutters about finishing up some work at HQ, making a portal before disappearing behind it. Leaving you to clean up. You weren't diminishing his protests. The idea of dealing with symbiotes was scary, especially with someone who hasn’t used them before. You thought it wouldn’t hurt to try.

But now your husband was angry. He was going to avoid the topic now until you couldn’t take the silence anymore. At least that’s what you thought.

The next morning he came to you, eyes heavy from lack of sleep. A lab coat over his spider suit. To say the words you never thought he’d say.

Let’s do it.

His hair was messy, like his actions as he paced in his lab. You saw multiple images presented by Lyla to support his theory. None of it made sense. You weren't a scientist. But he mentioned how it can be possible as long as you set some ground rules. Control the environment so things won’t get out of hand. And you wouldn’t get hurt.

Your heart squeezed as he rambled, the geneticist side coming out in full force. “You stayed up all night thinking about this, didn’t you?”

“Of course.” Miguel quickly said, his cheeks flushed. “I love you.”

You cradled his face in your palms, thumbs rubbing his cheeks with affection. “I love you too.”

To be cautious, Miguel wanted to test how you reacted to the symbiote. He wanted to monitor you for 24 hours. He first suggested locking you up in the lab so he could be close by but you weren't having that. You decided that staying home and doing your usual tasks would be good enough. Miguel wasn’t a huge fan but he shut up after a few kisses.

You weren't sure how you'd react to the symbiote. If you would feel a drastic difference compared to your normal self. So when Ravage attached to your body, there wasn’t a dramatic shift. No change. Only that they were there. A niggling on the back of your head. It wasn’t annoying, but it would take a while to get used to.

You did everything as normal. Freshened up and grabbed a cup of coffee. Until your mug snapped.

You shrieked at the sudden action, your coffee on the floor, hot droplets on your hand. Miguel was watching you because he called through your watch right away.

“Are you okay?”

You started wiping up your mess, “I’m fine. It just happened so quickly.” Your brows furrowed while sweeping the broken contents. You’d never snapped a mug like that before. Was it because of Ravage?

“It’s the symbiote.” Miguel confirmed, “By enhancing you, it also applies to your physical traits.” Oh right, Ravage did mention that.

You stared at your hands. “Does that mean I have powers?”

“Kind of…Like I said, it’s only temporary.” Right. You shouldn’t get excited. All of this was temporary. “I’d watch your grip.”

You resorted to handling things with your fingers, willing yourself to touch them with the lightest of touch. You understood how Miguel felt about his abilities. If you moved your arm wrong, you’d probably break something. Or someone.

“I’m hungry.” Ravage’s voice resonated in your head.

That was another thing you had to get used to. Every time they spoke, their words would rumble through your body. Prickling your skin in an uncomfortable way that was also satisfying. And no one else could hear them besides you.

“You’re always hungry.” You commented while pulling out a bar of dark chocolate. You broke up the bar into smaller pieces, feeding it to them. “How many times did Miguel have to feed you?”

“Many times.” They said, chomping on another piece. “We don’t just need chocolate to feed.”

You purse your lips, “I’m not feeding you brains.” You gave them a look as they scowled, angrily eating his last piece of chocolate.

“We’re not talking about that. Sex should suffice.”

You perked up, “What?”

“You heard us. Intercourse staves us for a while.”

“Sex is nourishing for you?”

“We didn’t say that. We just like it.”

That explains why Miguel kept wanting to have sex with you. A lot.

“We can’t though. Knowing Mig, he’d want to wait until 24 hours are up.”

“Sex does involve said participants to be next to each other, right?” Their eyes raised in question, “It shouldn't be a problem.”

“No. Not until 24 hours are up.” That's what you said, but it wasn’t what you were thinking. You'd admit getting impatient. You wanted to see if this crazy plan would work. After months of trying and failing, you were tired of waiting. Why couldn't you make love to your husband now to see what happens?

Thoughts kept running rampant as you couldn't sleep. You wanted him to pull you in close, get on top, and have his way with you. You placed a hand on top of his own that rested on your stomach. Your ass, only covered by shorts, started to rub against his lower half. Miguel wasn’t asleep yet when his hand gripped your shirt, a groan slipping out.

“What are you doing?”

You kept going at that same agonizing pace. “Thinking…”

“About?” He made no moves to have you stop, only having a death grip on your shirt.

“How horny I am right now.”

Miguel’s breath quickened at the faster pace. On instinct, he pulled you closer, the large hand splayed across your belly. But he suddenly had a moment of clarity as he pulled back.

“No, it hasn't been 24 hours yet.”

You held back a smirk at how you could feel his cock getting hard against your bottom. “You can still watch me while you fuck me.”

You maneuvered to get back in your original position but he stopped you. “Sorry, I really don't want any surprises.” He gave you a gentle kiss on your forehead before turning over to try and sleep, which may take a while due to his current state.

That's fine, you could wait.

You made arousing your husband your mission. Showering with him, making sure his entire body was clean before work by running the washcloth over his body. Making out with him with the towels loosely hanging from your bodies. You felt Miguel’s muscles tense from every seductive touch. His eyes were hard on you as he knew what you were doing but didn't press further.

You stole another kiss before he went to work, tongue sliding across his own with fervor. When you parted, he took a long, deep breath.

“Me vas a matar (You’re gonna kill me)…” He muttered.

“I love you too.” You waved him goodbye when he disappeared.

Ravage’s pleased hum once again filled your body, “We are enjoying the teasing. But when do we play?”

“Be patient.”

30 minutes until the 24-hour surveillance was up. How convenient it was also around the time you ate lunch with him.

You arrived, displaying a casual demeanor when meeting up with Miguel at his lab. He was rightfully cautious as you walked side by side to the cafeteria. You had sent him a naughty text not too long ago. Everything was okay. Cool and casual. Right until you locked eyes with the broom closet.

With your newfound strength, you opened the door, grabbed your husband, and launched him inside.

The cleaning supplies shook from the force as you closed the door and locked it. Miguel didn’t have time to protest as your lips pressed against his in a rush. Filled with need and wanting. His hands gripped your sides, a groan escaping as he gently pushed you away.

“We have about 24 minutes and 15 seconds until-” You kissed him again and he reciprocated it. He pulled your body close to his, devouring each other in the embrace. But Miguel was such a stickler as he pulled away again. “We should wait-”

“Ravage hasn’t done anything these past 23 hours. If they wanted to, they would’ve.” You pushed him down to the floor, seeing the hunger rising in his eyes. Your stomach fluttered at his gaze, sitting down on his lap. “Now fuck me.”

Miguel didn’t need to be told twice. He kissed you again, a tight hold on your hips as he rolled his own against you. It didn’t take long for him to get hard, ready to release what you had started since last night. You were as desperate as him as hands tore through your clothes. You couldn’t be upset, as you sunk down on his length.

The entire act was filthy as Miguel gripped your plump cheeks while he thrusted up into you. A death grip on your flesh so you couldn’t escape. Rough enough to where the entire room started to shake. His head was deep between your breasts, whining about how good you felt. So good that you could feel the slight prick from his talons. They weren’t fully out, thank goodness, but enough to knead your soft flesh.

It didn’t take long for your climax to arrive. Your warm walls clenched against his length, inviting him to fill your insides. His warm seed coated you as his body stilled.

“Good. Very good.”

You heard Ravage as you gave Miguel another kiss. You weren't exhausted, your body sturdy enough to go for many more rounds. You were never like this before. Miguel had enough stamina to go all night if he could. But you were only capable of a few before passing out from exhaustion. Not this time.

Miguel picked you up and went home, completely neglecting his duties. Ravage started to take over, forming a second skin around your body. No one cared as you locked yourselves in the bedroom.

Miguel pressed you against the bed, bottom raised while he pounded into you. The entire room quaked under his rough thrusts as you were pinned against the wall. Bite marks covered your skin as you subdued him, locking hands and riding him until he saw heaven. Droplets of cum dripped out of you, only to be pushed back in by his large fingers.

You didn’t know how long you were going until you saw the clock. Being almost eight in the morning. Your head was hazy from the constant lovemaking. Heavy snores filled the room as you looked over, seeing Miguel sleeping on his stomach while tangled in the bedsheets. The sun peeked through the curtains and it was too much sunlight to your liking so you went up to close them. Your body felt heavy but also oddly satisfied. This must be the perk of having a symbiote.

“That was fun.” Ravage chittered, pleasure once again seeping through your body. “When can we play again?”

[save-the-villainous-cat]

ENEMIES WITH BENEFITS REALIZE THEY FELL IN LOVE PLEASE

The villain cringed hard whenever they touched the hero’s forearm.

For the past weeks, their feelings had changed from indifferent to borderline anxious. Whenever they were on top of the hero, they fought a rising panic attack, desperately trying to swallow the tightness of their throat. Nothing helped — they had done all kinds of methods to calm themselves down but all the internet told them was bullshit.

Apparently, they needed to find the trigger first.

“I know it’s none of my business,” the hero said one evening, their dagger digging into the villain’s clothes. “But you’ve been distant lately. I feel like you don’t want to sleep with me anymore. I understand that completely and if you want to stop, we will.”

The villain swallowed, the same pain forming in their chest, and in all their wisdom, they nodded. 

“Yeah, I think we should stop,” they said. 

“Okay,” the hero said, giving them a cut right above their hip. 

That didn’t work. It didn’t work at all.

The villain became an insomniac, walking around like a zombie during the day. They made mistakes when they cleaned their weapons, made mistakes when they were fighting. Getting sloppy wouldn’t have been bad if this line of work wasn’t deadly and maybe they would’ve been able to live with the horrible symptoms they experienced but under these circumstances, they were anything but.

Which is why two weeks later, they found themselves being pressed against the cold ground with the hero on top of them, their knee digging into a fresh wound.

“I would like to sleep with you again,” they wheezed. “I understand if you—”

“I agree,” the hero interrupted them, putting more pressure on their wound. “Tomorrow. Your place.”

The villain caught themselves smiling with their heart pounding in their chest, fighting for some sick salvation. And god, that scared them. So much, in fact, that they almost called the hero the next day to tell them they couldn’t do it. 

By the time the hero rang their doorbell, they were a mess. 

“Did I interrupt your workout?” the hero joked but the villain didn’t really get it, they just fidgeted and made a sound that could’ve been close to “yeah.”

The hero studied them but decided on being silent which was definitely the better decision for the villain. Sweating like this before actually getting to it was probably very suspicious. Maybe the hero thought this was a trap? Maybe the hero was setting up a trap? They knew they were going mad and nothing was able to help them.

However, once their enemy was naked and on top of them, the villain managed to relax. They allowed themselves to close their eyes and lean their head back, loosening their muscles and breathing out slowly. It was a peace they hadn’t experienced in two terrible weeks. They felt tears prickling at the corners of their eyes; relief washing over them, embracing them gently.

They let their hands wander over the hero’s thighs, squeezing them when the hero found a particularly soft spot to devour. They needed the touch, needed to feel the soft skin wrapped around their hips, the warmth of their chest and—

The villain froze, nearly choking on a moan when their fingertips brushed the hero’s forearm. All of it came back. Their throat tightened, their eyes widened and they couldn’t help but gasp for air. Immediately, the hero got off them and pulled them up.

“Hey, deep breaths,” they said gently but there was some kind of urgency in their eyes, some kind of panic that wouldn’t get past their pupils. “Follow my breathing, in and out, come on…”

The villain’s fingers shook, they sweated like a sinner in church. They were going to die.

Gasping for air, they clasped the hero, trying to hold on and find some stability.

Calming down with the hero next to them was easier than calming down alone, they realised. They didn’t like that. 

“What is going on?” the hero asked softly. As soon as the villain’s breathing had evened, they pulled the blanket over them and played with the villain’s hair. It left the villain speechless — not even a sound wanted to come out of them. They didn’t do things like this. They didn’t cuddle. They didn’t ask questions.

“I…your arm.” The villain felt another wave of anxiety coming over them, so they squeezed the hero’s hand. 

“Do you mean the scar?” They looked at each other. 

“I broke that arm a year ago,” the villain said. Tears rose again. “You said it didn’t heal properly.”

“It didn’t. It still hurts at times,” the hero said. The villain wanted to cry. 

“I’m sorry,” they whispered. 

“This has never been a problem in the past,” the hero pointed out. “We’ve started having sex before you broke my arm. It didn’t matter to you which scar you made.”

“That’s right,” the villain said. “And I’m so fucking sorry. Every time I touch your arm, I think about the crack, I think about your scream and your tears…”

“I forgive you, you know?”

“I’m still sorry.”

No one had to say more than that. Both of them knew what it meant.  

[okay-j-hannah]

Episode 5: The Unknown Subject

Doctor Who : Multishot

Eleventh Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 3413

Warnings: some gunshots. some blood. some violence. some virus warfare. some of the oncoming storm. River taking matters into her own hands... inspiration and some lines came from Criminal Minds Season 4 Episode 24 “Amplification.” 

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: A skilled team of FBI tactical profilers analyze the country’s most prevalent oncoming disasters, anticipating the criminal mind’s next moves before they can inflict doomsday.

Episode 4: The New Heir

Episode 5: The Unknown Subject {You Are Here}

Episode 6: Dr. Smith

The DAU was overrun with representatives of all international governments. The army was instructing team members under the FBI and CIA to form search parties abroad in each country. Agents were conversing with contacts across seas as they tried to get everyone on the same page about the suspect.

SSA Smith was in the conference room having a heated discussion with other leaders and officials. They could all see him fuming behind the glass walls.

Jack was leaning into Donna, muttering some theories about where they were going to be stationed next. “I heard the professor was last seen in France.”

“She crossed the border after the stunt in London,” Donna agreed, readjusting her blazer as new agents caught her eye. “I think John’s talking to the Prime Minister and the president of France.”

Rory was sitting at his desk, glasses pushed up his nose, “He’s been tense.”

(Y/N) agreed, folding her arms and standing next to the rest of her team. The Doctor had been avoiding her as of late. He had become this hardened, cold-shouldered character since the last reality.

It was hard to associate him with her Doctor. He was so dark and strict and to-the-point. But she could see the split second of recognition in his green eyes when he looked at her.

He still looked at her with fondness.

“You think the professor will cook up some new disease?” Donna asked rather morbidly, “After we traced the last one?”

“Well, with the CDC already synthesizing a cure after the last attack,” Rory said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to create a 2.0 version to throw us through a loop.”

Jack nodded towards the conference room, “Look. He’s calling us in. Time for another debriefing.”

The team walked determinedly through the crowds of agents and military personnel, climbing the ramp to get to their seats.

The Doctor had his arms folded, already introducing their guest before they all sat down.

“Hello everyone, this is Dr. Martha Jones, chief of special pathogens with the CDC.”

(Y/N) nodded to the woman she recognized as a past companion of the Doctor. But the Martha here didn’t know her – she just looked worried with a light sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“Hello, I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances,” Martha said. “The target, Professor River Song, has been developing an unknowable strain of virus capable to compete with our most deadly naturally occurring viruses.”

“She’s already tried that,” Jack said, “We’re creating a cure, aren’t we?”

The Doctor frowned, “She’s struck again with an entirely new strain – in Lyon, France.”

“Oh my god,” Donna whispered.

“Last night, 47 people checked into hospitals with similar symptoms,” Martha began, “And by this morning 22 of those people have died.”

Jack took a seat, “Damn.” He set his jaw, “Were you able to detect the virus?”

“Yes,” Martha said, “Disease control centers across the world have taken samples and are working around the clock to create a new cure.”

“In the meantime,” the Doctor said, “We have to apprehend the professor before she strikes again. We have reason to believe she’s entered the United States. She may have been spotted at the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport in Georgia.”

Rory piped up, “But she didn’t attack the airport?”

“No,” said Martha.

“Then what are we doing about other potential mass targets?” Rory continued, “Malls, trains, subways?”

The Doctor sighed, “There’s a media blackout. We can’t tell the public.”

“There’d be a mass exodus,” Jack nodded in agreement, “The panic would end up killing more people.”

“We’re heading to Georgia,” the Doctor said, “Wheels up in five. Thank you Dr. Jones.”

Martha nodded to him, “I’ll be your direct contact for the cure. I’ll let you know of any developments.”

The team all stood and made for the elevators to pack for their coming trip. Martha followed to converse with the military scientists outside. (Y/N) remained behind with the Doctor, anxiously waiting for him to look at her.

“Doctor,” she said cautiously, “Are you okay?”

It looked like he was hardly breathing, “Perfectly fine.”

“You don’t sound like yourself,” she continued, “I can tell you’re upset.”

“Why would I be upset?” he said lowly, “I only learned that a close friend of mine wants to kill you.”

He went to exit the conference room, but (Y/N) stepped in front of the door.

“I wasn’t going to die.”

“Yes,” he said darkly, his voice deep and angered, “You would’ve.”

“But not in reality. Not in our true reality,” she pressed, “This is a dream, Doctor – you know that.”

“How can you be so sure dying in here doesn’t mean you’ll die in real life?” he asked, brow furrowed.

Gone was his dancing fingers and giddy steps. Gone was his childlike smile and eccentric movements. He was tall and cold and angry.

“I trust River,” she said quietly, “Her logic is sound.”

“But unproven,” he said, “We don’t know what’s keeping us here. It could be dangerous to wake up. There has to be another way.”

There was the strange tingle of anticipation growing. The dream was about to zap them to the next scene. They had been off script for too long.

“This isn’t up for debate, (Y/N),” he said.

She hated the way he looked at her like he couldn’t fully see her. He was clouded by the storm that had developed and resided within him. The Oncoming Storm.

Something sparked in her stomach. The reason he became like this was because she almost died. Because he cared about her so much he was willing to do anything to keep her safe.

~~~

(Y/N) was suddenly sitting in a booth in a local Georgia café. Across from her was Jack, sipping a massive chocolate milkshake.

It seemed like a more Jack thing to do rather than this FBI agent character. It almost made her smile.

“You sure you don’t want some?” he asked, biting off the candied cherry.

She slumped into the booth, “I’m okay, thanks.” She looked around to see if any of the other team members were there. “I wouldn’t want to spill on my suit.”

Jack looked amused, “And you think I will? Am I a messy eater?”

“The worst,” she snickered. But her mind was still clouded with the interaction with the Doctor. He had looked so angry.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Jack said, swirling his straw around. “Don’t be coy, I know that look.”

She gave a nervous smile, “John?” The scripted lines came out of her easily while her mind dwelled on the dilemma at hand. “We had an argument.”

“Obviously,” Jack said with rolling eyes, “We all saw you in the conference room. He’s just worried about you is all.”

“I know, and it’s infuriating.”

Jack sighed, “You had a close call last case – you almost died.” He contemplated his next sentence for a second, “I think Smith realized that it was possible to lose you.”

“That was always a possibility.”

“But he got a taste of it,” Jack leaned in, putting emphasis on his words, “He had a taste of those feelings – of that loss – and it terrified him.”

(Y/N) could feel her heart snap into motion. It might’ve been a script, but what Jack was saying made total sense to the Doctor as well.

There had been a pattern to all of these dreams. And she was starting to see it.

“You’re making it sound like…”

Jack clicked his tongue, “Like he’s in love with you?” He grinned, “That’s because he is.”

Every dream had a theme of getting the Doctor and (Y/N) together. In the New York apartment there was the tender moment they shared in the coffeehouse. In the fantasy realm he rescued her from an arranged marriage – had said I love you to each other. In the old English estate they were prompted to be friendly with one another in hopes of an eventual marriage.

There had never been a spoken word between them about being anything more than friends, than companions. Sure there had been initial attraction but it was quickly set aside when it was evident the Doctor wasn’t interested.

Or was he.

Perhaps (Y/N) had been blinded by her own efforts to avoid greater feelings. It made traveling with him easier. If she had developed true love with him then the entire companionship would be at risk of falling apart.

But as Jack started rambling on about the evidence he had gathered on why John was in love with her, she continued to connect dots.

These dreams were tailored to the Doctor.

When he wanted to catch River Song for what she did, the dream state changed into a reality where that was plausible. It was set in a crime drama where they caught bad guys.

Somehow the Doctor was in charge. He might not even realize it.

“I’ve completely stumped you, haven’t I?” Jack asked, setting his milkshake aside, “Hard to believe Smith is capable of love, huh.”

“Not entirely.”

Jack looked up quick, “Really?”

(Y/N) shrugged, eyes glazed as she tried to pull herself out of her deep thought. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the guy crack a smile, let alone express an ounce of affection.”

She became reminiscent of the Doctor that was the opposite. The one that was all smiles and all doting affection. Was her safety really the reason for him acting so different?

“But I do know that I’ve never seen him more relaxed than when he’s with you,” Jack said with a growing smirk. “You bring out the best in him.”

“And the worst,” she said quietly, “Evidently.”

Jack threw a few dollars on the table, “It’s gotta be nice to be loved that much though.”

She wrung her hands, “We have to go meet Smith and Pond.”

“I’m telling you…” Jack said, leading the way outside and brandishing a pair of sunglasses, “You gotta say something to him. The poor guy is hopeless when it comes to first moves. Trust me, I’ve worked with the guy for years.”

(Y/N) walked alongside him, making sure her firearm and badge were secured at her belt. “I don’t think he’s in the mood for any love confessions.”

“He’s never in the mood,” Jack said with a laugh. He slung his arm around her shoulders, always the light heart. “But if you’re so concerned with why he’s upset, maybe you need to talk about it.”

“I tried this morning,” she grumbled, his bouncing steps infectious.

Jack squeezed her shoulder, “Then you try again. He might not be an easy man. But he’s a good man.”

She wholeheartedly agreed with that statement. The Doctor was a complicated, eccentric genius who made things more difficult than they had to be. But he was also the loveliest, most generous man who gave the best hugs.

And they deserved to get out of there. And (Y/N) had to get through to him somehow – even with him being stuck in this arrogant, gruff character.

She spotted the Doctor and Amy through the windows of the local police station. They seemed to be discussing something as they looked over a city map. Jack led them across the street and towards the entrance.

He gave her a playful wink as they walked into their work room.

“(Y/N),” said Amy, always looking her best in her professional attire. She was usually underestimated by the agents, but always made the looks on their faces all the more amusing when she proved them wrong.

“Have you found anything?” she asked, avoiding a glance in the Doctor’s direction.

Amy shook her head, “We’re waiting on some intel in central Atlanta. Our profile has led us to believe that the professor will plan an attack at the Atlanta History Center.”

The Doctor muttered, “It’s a historical museum. A place she might enjoy.” He flashed his eyes toward (Y/N) and they both dwelled on their archeologist of a friend. River would love old museums.

“What intel are we waiting for?” Jack asked, eyeing their position on the city map.

Amy scrolled through her phone, “They’re verifying that the professor was spotted in the vicinity. Noble and Williams are giving out the profile and monitoring the surveillance.”

“Let’s not start a panic at the museum unless we have to,” the Doctor said, rubbing hard at his face.

“Understood,” Jack said.

But (Y/N) had fixated on the scruff of the Doctor’s jaw. It was so strange to see him like that. He looked older. He looked more tired. He looked… like an adult.

She wanted his little toyshop salesman self to come out and make some childish remark about the taste of custard cream or the boredom of taxes.

“Can I have a moment alone with (Y/N).” The Doctor was still looking away as his colleagues shared looks.

Jack and Amy cleared their throats, sidling out of the room with quick steps.

(Y/N) wrung her hands again, feeling the uneasiness of an unscripted moment.

“Doctor…”

“You’re going to stay here when we go apprehend River Song.”

“Excuse me?” the words became lodged in her throat, “You can’t do that.”

He gave her a heated stare, “I’m not risking you getting hurt.”

“Doctor, how many times do I need to tell you not to worry. This isn’t real. I won’t really get hurt.”

“Did that Spanish flu hurt?” he asked, emotion flaring in his eyes, “Did laying in your sickbed hurt you?”

It did. But she knew there wasn’t any permanent damage. It was just a dream.

“I’ll wake up,” she said quietly, “It would force me awake.”

He gritted his teeth, “And what if it doesn’t?”

“God, I’d risk it, Doctor! We can’t stay stuck in here for the rest of our lives.”

He looked conflicted, “But it hasn’t been so bad, has it? The roles we’ve played.”

“That’s all it is, Doctor. It’s all play. It’s not real. I want to get back to our real lives.”

“You’re real,” he deadpanned, uncharacteristically still as he stood his ground. “You’re enough for me.”

She blanked. Her mind sifted out of her ears as she scrambled to form words. “Doctor… there are more realistic ways to have a life with me. You don’t have to dream one up.”

His shoulders stiffened, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I have a feeling you might.” She took a step forward, “You can’t create some fictional life with me where we play these characters that live normal married human lives.”

“We’ve never been married,” he said quickly.

“I had a feeling the next one might have us be,” she said just as fast. “It shifts to your wants, Doctor. But what you want here… right now – it’s not what I want. I can’t play a character and pretend that I’m happy with all this.”

His fingers started to fidget like they use to on their adventures, “You’re not happy.”

She lightly shook her head. “I want to go home.”

“You’re not happy here with me.” He said it more to himself then to her.

But she quickly cut in, “I’m happy with you on the tardis. I’m happy with you back in our own lives.” Her hands rose to clutch at her chest, “Please, Doctor – this isn’t right. We have to wake up.”

“There has to be another way than dying!” he said, furious again.

There was a whoosh of air and the pair of them were standing outside of a historical building, groups of people running around in a panic.

Their talk of the real world had them flying to the next scene.

They were clad in bullet proof vests, guns poised in their hands. Wires crept up their backs and into their ears. They could hear the rest of their team asking for orders and the whereabouts of Professor River Song.

“No,” the Doctor growled, addressing (Y/N). “You are staying here while I find River.”

“Like hell I am,” she cried back, taking off for the museum.

“(Y/N)!” the Doctor yelled, “It isn’t safe.”

The screams of the bystanders became muted as she searched for their friend. Seeing her here would mean River was sucked into the dream world too. She could no longer manipulate the rules of the dream.

Her feet pounding into the cement, she frantically searched the faces of the crowd. The Doctor was getting lost behind her, being swarmed by the public.

She cried out, “River! River I’m here!” She kept her finger off the trigger, but her gun was still brandished. “River Song!”

Then in the distance she heard a voice cry back, “(Y/N)?”

She flew around, there at the edge of the building was a pile of crazed, curly hair. She had her own gun at her hip.

“How did you get here?” (Y/N) asked, “Did you get pulled in?”

“Unfortunately,” River said, meeting her friend with a hug. “But I can still try to pull us out.”

(Y/N) eyed her gun, “You trying to get back in prison for murdering someone?”

River shrugged, “This is just a nightmare. None of it is real.”

“Feels real,” (Y/N) whispered, staring at the gun, “I suppose that’s what scares you awake.”

The gun was raised and aimed for (Y/N), “That’s the theory.”

“The Doctor’s not so sure.”

“He gets skeptical when it comes to the safety of those he loves.”

“People keep telling me that,” (Y/N) said, holstering her gun.

River took a deep breath, taking aim, “That he worries for your safety?”

“No,” (Y/N) said, “That he loves me.”

“Maybe you should take the hint,” the professor laughed, “This should only sting a little.” Her eyes flickered to behind (Y/N), “Incoming.”

“Hands in the air!” came the voice of Amy, “I said hands up!”

Jack was right behind her, “(Y/N), where is your gun?”

“It’s alright,” she responded over her shoulder, “I’ll see you guys when we wake up.” She gave a nod towards River Song.

She nodded back, firing three gunshots.

Red hot pain ran through (Y/N)’s lower abdomen. Two shots barely clipped the vest, but the third lodged itself near her hipbone, but definitely into her major organs. It was true, the shock and adrenaline that coursed her system made the bullets only slightly hurt.

She was falling to her knees when more shots were fired. In the distance she could see River Song fall to the ground.

The pain was sharp but was growing into something dull and achingly present. A hand pressed to her stomach came back coated in bright blood. The life was beginning to slip between her fingers.

“(Y/N)!” came a cry from above. Rough hands grasped at her body, pulling her in a way that made her wounds flare up.

She cried out, “Stop!” Her fingers were weak where she grabbed at the arms around her. It was hard to see – her vision was blurry. Her ears were full of a buzz.

But it was the Doctor that cradled her now, “What did you do?” he whispered. “What did you do?”

There was a crack in his voice and her heart began to hurt just as much as the rest of her body.

~~~

There was an insistent beeping somewhere next to her. The air smelled sterile and stuffy with disinfectant.

Her fingers picked at the cotton sheets around her. There was something taped to the back of her hand.

Opening her eyes, she spotted the IV drip. After adjusting she noticed the white walls and old machines measuring her heartrate.

She quickly lifted the blankets to look at her abdomen. After a quick inspection she realized that there weren’t any bandages. There was no evidence at all that she was shot just minutes before. Her skin was clear.

“Dammit,” she whispered, her head falling back into the pillows. They had jumped to another reality.

A crash against her windows had her looking for the source.

There, clad in scrubs and white lab coats, was Amy and Rory. The pair of them kissing like they were hungry for their last meal. Pressed against the window they were unabashed as they consumed each other.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. Great… they were stuck in a medical drama now.

And something else had become evident. The Doctor might have more control over the dream than she realized.

It was apparent that if the Doctor didn’t want to wake up, then (Y/N) wasn’t going to wake up either.

~~~

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[ryqoshay]

Tri-Arame - Time Magic

Primary Pairing Trio: YuuAyuSetsu Words: 676 Rating: G Time Frame: Some time during their college years Prompt: Glasses

---------

Summary: Yuu and Ayumu arrive home to find Nana studying hard?

Author's Note: Primary entry for the 27th

---------

“We’re home, Setsuna-chan.” Ayumu announced as she stepped through the door of her dorm room.

“Oh, she’s in Nana-chan mode.” Yuu observed. “She must be doing some serious studying.”

The girl wearing glasses and her twintails in braids looked up from her laptop. “Oh, hey, uhm…” She looked indecisive for a moment.

“If you’re busy, you don’t have to get up, Nana-chan.” Ayumu assured as she removed her shoes.

“Yeah, we can come to you.” Yuu added.

“No, it’s not that.” Nana shook her head as her girlfriends made their way over to the kotatsu. “I wasn’t really studying…”

The trio took a moment for kisses, hugs and words of greetings.

“Oh, wow, that’s a lot of tabs.” Yuu chuckled as she settled in on one side of Nana.

“Diving down another research rabbit hole for your doujin?” Ayumu asked, leaning in from Nana’s other side.

“Must be one heck of a deep dive for you to use Nana-chan mode to help you focus.”

“Ever since I added all the new characters, I can’t stop coming up with new ideas.” Nana explained, despite her girlfriends being well aware of the fact.

Recently, Nana had been talking about her doujin at the idol production company where she worked part time. The setting and story caught the interest of other former school idols, and somehow, Nana had ended up with permission to use their names and likenesses in her work. Suddenly, the cast had exploded in size, and Nana had been riding on cloud nine ever since. Every waking moment not studying or practicing for the past couple weeks had been focused on her doujin.

“So many that I couldn’t possibly keep up with trying to draw them all in any reasonable amount of time.” Nana continued. “But I don’t want to lose the ideas either, so I’ve been outlining several story lines I would like to eventually draw. I was hoping to have enough to send to Shizuku-san for review later tonight.”

“And us?” Yuu asked.

“Well, yes, of course I would welcome input from Yuu-san and Ayumu-san. I, uhm, thought that part was obvious.”

“So, what part got you stuck enough to bring out Nana-chan?” Ayumu asked.

Nana hung her head.

“Mm?”

“It’s silly…”

“The entire premise is silly.” Yuu laughed. “Monsters running a theater? Ridiculous. Keeping up some masquerade that monsters don’t exist so they can live among humans? Fascinating. And that’s half the fun of it. I find it thrilling how many ways Nana-chan has turned the mundane into the exciting by adding some supernatural twist.”

“Well, I just finished outlining a chapter about my character catching a cold.”

“Cthughans can catch colds?”

“It’s an eldritch cold.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, after the symptoms are dealt with, there is a big mess that I have Nozomi-san fix with a localized time reversal spell.”

“That sound interesting.” Ayumu commented.

“But what I’m stuck on is how I can use that spell again, for the good of the theater.” Nana said. “Like I’ve done with Shizuku-san’s ectoplasm, or Ai-san’s hair, or my living flame.”

“Maybe have something break in a play and have it be repaired?”

“Oh, maybe a bunch of glasses at a bar that Shizuku-chan’s Otosu drinks at?” Yuu suggested.

“I’m not sure if time magic would fit well in a detective noir play, Yuu-chan.” Ayumu said.

“There’s magic in the pirate play though, right?”

“That’s true.” Ayumu nodded. “And Nana-chan did write something about a trapped treasure.”

“Maybe use the rewindy spell to undo the effects of a trap?”

“Yes!” Nana’s head popped up. “That’s it! Time magic to reset a trap!” She began typing fast. “Thank you, Ayumu-san, Yuu-san.”

“Always happy to help.” Yuu grinned.

“Mm.” Ayumu agreed. “Well, I’ll leave you to your outlines.” She stood up. “I’m going to start making dinner.”

“Thanks, Ayumu.” Yuu said before settling in to watch Nana.

Ayumu smiled at the lack of response from Nana as she knew the obsessive focus had taken over. And that was one of the many things she loved about Nana.

---------

Author's Note Continued: I was wrong. I wrote three epilogue type entries for the ploƆ arc; I forgot about this one.

Anyway, when the Glasses prompt made me think about Nana, I initially thought perhaps she was studying really hard. But what if she wasn't studying? What if she was using Nana mode to help her concentrate on research or planning for her doujin? And what better doujin to use than PoH, which I already established as being a doujin in TA during a prior Promptober event? And I just wrote a big, multi-entry arc for PoH, centered on Setsuna's character, and YuuAyuSetsu. Thus this scene nearly wrote itself.

Prior Prompts Used: Masquerade Time

[antisocialsharky]

if I'm 14, is it possible that I have aspd? Also since I'm not old enough to get official diagnoses, can I self diagnose with aspd? or would that be like offensive?

From the perspective of the DSM-5, you would not have ASPD yet, but potentially be recognized with conduct disorder (maybe with a 'lack of prosocial emotions' / 'callous-unemotional traits' as a specifier, depending on where you live, some professionals use it, some dont). The DSM-5 would not agree with you saying you have ASPD until you're 18.

But obviously its not really that easy and clear cut. You have to have a history of antisocial behavior in order for it to be considered antisocial personality disorder, so you will show the symptoms before you turn 18 and thus its absolutely possible to show all the signs of ASPD at 14.

Theres just not really a scientific consensus as to when your personality traits are so set in stone, that they are a longstanding pattern that will not be easily changed by "normal development". Some professionals like to use the "legal age" of 18 (or 21 in some countries) as a line, some still believe in that prematurely ended study thats responsible for the "your brain stops developing at 25" myth and choose 25, some think your brain & personality never stop developing and will diagnose it based on the severity of the impact the symptoms have on you while completely ignoring the age, etc.

Its kinda partially frowned upon by some psychologists/circles, to diagnose PDs in teenagers/during puberty, as that is considered a period of quick & extreme personality and life/body changes (emotional instability, a lot of different conflicts, changing peer relationships & connected identity issues, changing body causing reactions, etc. => all considered normal for puberty and do not necessarily mean its a PD yet). Thus many psychologists like to wait that period out, as there is also the concern that labeling behavior as a "this will not change anymore & you're doomed", might act as a self fulfilling prophecy (pygmalion effect) and cause the person to cling to the PD pattern, as that is whats expected (yet the argument can't be contained to just teenage years, works well in adults too, but the difference in life experience is seen as important) => whether or not you agree with this, is up to you, as I said, theres no consensus and its questionable anyway whether personality traits can be measured + we don't know enough about brain development to say for sure.

Long story short: The DSM-5 and many professionals would not support a claim for ASPD at 14, but theres also opinions & positions that probably would. I can't tell you which one to choose, or believe in, thats not my job. If you're concerned about some of your behaviors, talk to a professional to get early intervention (if your goal is symptom reduction/management, you can rarely go wrong with that (at least if your professional is good & respects your wishes and stuff ofc).

I also can't really tell whether or not to self diagnose, thats not my decision to make. I can tell you that self diagnosis comes with the risk of misidentification, the risk of reinforcing your own symptoms thus making them into a bigger problem than they were and the risk of making the label into such a big part of your identity that, should you turn out to not have the condition, it might be harder to let go of the idea and figure out your identity. The often named positive sides of self diagnosis, are an increased feeling of community and belonging, as well as acceptance of ones traits (which is btw. all true for a professional diagnosis as well sometimes, both positive & negative aspects, but a professional diagnosis is widely considered better, since someone with field experience & knowledge is the one diagnosing).

There might be people who will consider it offensive if you self diagnose in general and there might be people who will take particular offense to anyone claiming ASPD prior to age 18.

But just as with the other part, its up to you. I can't tell you what do do and believe in and I don't make the rules. This is the best info I can provide and I hope whatever you end up doing, will be benefitial to you and your mental health!

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

In Sickness and Health

In which Kiri finds herself with a persistent cough, and Zayne takes care of her.

We're still on the hurt/comfort train. Personally I loved this piece, for all that it gets a little gross with illness. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated, they tell me that people enjoy my writing!

---

“Remind me to beg Captain Jenna to never put us in a swamp again.”

Kiri trudges into the apartment complex. Her clothes are damp, her hair smells like peat moss, and to top it all off, she has a cough that won't go away.

Xavier nods tiredly. He looks almost as bad as she feels. For the normally nonplussed Hunter to be like this, well… “That was…unpleasant,” he agrees. “Especially when it started pouring rain.”

As they step into the elevator, he glances sidelong at her, reaching out to check her temperature. “Are you okay? You look feverish. And you've been off since we got back.”

She bats his hand away. There's a weight on her chest, and her head feels like it's sealed tight with hot steam, ready to burst. “I'm fine,” she replies. “I just need a shower and to burn my uniform. No one should ever wear that thing again.”

Xavier nods his agreement as they reach Kiri’s floor. “I'll see you later?”

She nods. “Later. At least remember to get clean before you sleep.”

His agreement is shut off by the closing elevator doors.

She feels awful.

There's that cough again. It seems to be getting worse, more persistent.

It's bad enough that she pulls out her phone, reluctant and dripping swamp water in her entryway.

Riri💖 [7:14pm]: Zizi, I'm canceling tomorrow. Think I'm sick. Sorry for missing our standing date.

There's no reply.

She sighs and turns off her screen, tossing the phone onto the couch. Peeling the wet, cold clothes from her body is a sensory nightmare.

They slop into a pile on her bathroom floor. Kiri no longer cares, her uniform can just rot there. It's nasty, it smells like swamp funk, and she's pretty sure she's going to have to request a new set anyway.

Whoever designed these uniforms with a built-in corset was sadistic and probably also a Wanderer.

Thankfully, as much as the hot shower doesn't cure her illness, it does seem to help with her cough. She practically hacks up a lung in the billowing steam.

As she stumbles out, she can hear the shrill ring of her phone from the couch.

It's a struggle to make it there, but she does, tiredly pressing the answer button before she checks caller ID.

“Hey,” Kiri says, coughing. “Xav, I think I've come down with something. Make sure to-” the coughing fit doubles down, and she doesn't hear a response before the phone call suddenly ends.

Through watery eyes, she stares at the screen.

Five missed texts and a phone call from “Ice Prince”.

Fuck.

Flopping down on the seat, she groans. There's cough medicine in the cabinet, but it feels so far away.

Maybe she'll just rest her head for a moment, and then grab it.

Maybe….

Kiri wakes up to a cool cloth on her brow. The sheer amount of congestion she has makes her feel like an overfilled water balloon.

She blinks, blearily realizing she's in her bedroom.

“How did I…” she mumbles.

“I carried you,” a gentle voice replies, strangely muffled. Zayne stands in her doorway, a tray in hand. The lower half of his face is covered by a mask. He sets the tray on the nightstand, moving a book out of the way.

“It's likely you have pneumonia,” he continues, grabbing a home thermometer from it. “Open, please.”

“Likely?” She mumbles, opening her mouth.

He nods. “Under the tongue, and close. Good. When you answered, I assumed you thought you were speaking to your partner, Xavier, so I checked in with him briefly. I would have to do further tests at the hospital to confirm a diagnosis, but the symptoms he mentioned and what I've seen here generally tend to line up.”

She pushes his hand away as another coughing fit takes over, turning away as her chest heaves.

He hands her a tissue, and she uses it to cover her mouth as something frees itself, making her feel worse as her throat grows sore.

She pulls it away and groans at the gross contents, and Zayne sighs. “That confirms it. I'll drive you to the hospital.”

One drive later, and they're in Akso Hospital. Zayne handles the majority of the talking, although the poor medical receptionist’s eyes nearly pop out of her head at the sight of the lead cardiac surgeon holding hands with someone.

At some point while he was driving, he took her hand in his and didn't let go.

She hardly minds. Kiri feels like absolute shit, and she hates being a patient at a hospital on the best of days.

Time passes in a blur, and she's being examined and tested before she knows it. The hospital bed is sterile, the sheets are a little scratchy but warm, and she hates being put into a hospital gown.

Still, throughout it all, Zayne continues to hold her hand. His fingers are soft but bony, her knuckles bumping against his. She sighs, coughing, and goes to lean on his shoulder, stopping at the last second.

Zayne gives her an odd look. “Why did you pull away? You can rest on me, you know.”

“I'll get you sick,” she whines pitifully. “You have work later.”

His eyes crinkle behind the mask, and he gestures to it pointedly. “I put in some emergency sick leave.”

“But your patients-” she protests.

Zayne squeezes her hand. “-can wait,” he finishes. “I have a very sick one right here. Not to mention, you're my girlfriend. It's my duty to care for you when you can't care for yourself.” He tugs at her slightly. “Rest.”

With a huff, she settles her head on his shoulder.

For a while, she drifts in and out of consciousness, the sound of the lights buzzing faintly and nurses murmuring in the distance the only sound.

Zayne taps away on his phone, resting his head on top of hers. His breathing is deep and even, strangely soothing in its consistency.

Something pops into her head. “Zayne?”

“Mmh?” He makes a sound to let her know he's listening.

“How did you get into my house?” She asks.

He sighs. “You left your door unlocked. There was also a puddle in the entryway that I cleaned up.”

Kiri winces. “...sorry.”

Zayne shakes his head fondly. “You need to be more careful.”

Someone knocks on the door, and Zayne returns to attention, putting away his phone.

The urgent care doctor comes in, and Kiri closes her eyes, letting Zayne's voice wash over her as the two talk.

“-surprised to see you here, Doctor Zayne. I thought you took sick leave today.”

Zayne nods. “I did. This is my girlfriend.”

Something warms in Kiri’s heart at that, and she looks up at the doctor blearily, nodding.

He's seems taken aback, but smiles. “Oh, I see. You're Kirielle Atwell, right? I have the results for you.”

“Is it pneumonia?” She asks tiredly.

The doctor nods. “You got lucky, thankfully. Tests show it's pretty mild, so we can get some fluids into you and send you home with an antifungal medication.”

She and Zayne both breathe a sigh of relief.

“What are your recommendations?” Zayne asks. “I'll be taking care of her until she recovers.”

Kiri opens her mouth to protest, but all it takes is one glance from her boyfriend and she closes it again with a cough.

The doctor goes through a set of detailed instructions, and Kiri tunes back out. She's too tired to care, even as they give her fluids and her first dosage of medication.

Soon, they're back on their way. Kiri can't help but feel her eyes slide shut, her body trying to force her into shutdown.

Zayne taps his finger against the back of her hand to get her attention, and she jolts back to consciousness.

He snorts, trying to cover a laugh.

Kiri pouts at him. “Don't laugh, I'm sick,” she whines.

“I know,” Zayne says gently. “But I need to ask a question, so stay awake for a bit longer.”

“What is it?” She says, yawning.

Zayne looks at the road, the red light casting him in a crimson aura, glinting off his glasses. “Would you rather recover at your home, or mine? It might be easier for me to take care of you where I can be fully stocked on supplies.”

Kiri glances out the side window as the car continues on, mulling it over. They've got a little ways before Zayne has to turn off to his apartment.

In many ways, her apartment has become a dark, dusty place where she throws down her clothes and passes out before the next mission. Her workload over time has increased, making her restless and unwilling to be at home. There's too much to do, too much to see, and she honestly spends more of her free time at Zayne's than she does at her own.

It's gotten to the point where she keeps clothes in a drawer at his, and one nightstand has become ‘hers’.

Sometimes she feels like she knows his place better than her own.

Kiri turns back to him. Her chest burns slightly, her head swims, and all she can think of is how much better she would feel in a place that's surrounded by everything that belongs to him.

“Yours, I think,” she replies softly. “I know we left things at mine, but-”

He shakes his head. “I can grab anything you need while you're sleeping. I just want you to be as comfortable as possible.”

Kiri smiles warmly at him. “I love you,” she says without thinking.

Zayne accidentally stalls the engine, whipping his head towards her. His eyes are wide, startled, and she realizes she's never seen him blush before.

They're lucky the road is practically empty at this time of night.

Kiri wonders what his mouth is doing underneath his mask.

In her feverish state, she adjusts the one the hospital gave her, making sure it's fully in place, before leaning over and pressing her mask to his in a pseudo-kiss.

He's still in shock as she turns away, looking back out the window. Her face is aflame, and it isn't just the fever.

A few moments later, the car begins to move again. Zayne makes the turn to his place, as silent as she is.

Finally, he pulls into the garage and parks his car, turning in his seat to face her. “Kiri,” he says softly.

It's all he needs to get her to turn. Coughing, she looks at him shyly. “Yes?” She whispers.

Reaching out, he entwines their fingers again, and she can feel the ice that coats his skin.

“I feel the same.” His voice is tender, his eyes soft. His hand trembles against hers.

Kiri beams at him. “I'm glad. I'm glad it was you.”

Days pass by. Zayne thankfully doesn't get sick from Kiri's antics, but something has changed between the two of them.

There's a delightful awkwardness that causes both of them to fluster easily, as if they were both lovesick teenagers with their first crushes.

Over time, Kiri’s fever breaks, and her coughing subsides. She's honestly never felt more embarrassed about the awful things she's hacking up, and whenever she feels miserably disgusting, Zayne comforts her and assures he's seen much, much worse. It isn't quite as persuasive as he thinks, but she's too caught up in the high of “he loves me back” to tell him.

Then, finally, it's over.

She wakes up with her head pillowed on Zayne's lap as he works, catching up on any assignments or patient updates that require his attention.

“Did you sleep well?” He murmurs, his eyes still on his laptop, perched precariously on the couch arm.

She nods, turning and burying her face in his stomach. “I think I'm all better,” she mumbles. “I can think again.”

He hums in agreement. “You sound much clearer. When you called me on the phone that first day, I could barely understand you.”

Kiri groans, pinching his side in punishment. “Don't remind me. I can't believe I didn't check first.”

“Would you still have picked up if it was me?” He asks, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

“Mmhm. You're my doctor, after all. You'd scold me if I didn't.” She sighs as his hand strokes her hair lovingly.

Finally, he hits ‘enter’ and closes the laptop. “Then should I drive you home?”

She hesitates. It's dark and dreary there, like a depression cave. Once she goes, it's likely she won't see him for a while.

Kiri wraps her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his stomach.

“What's wrong?” He asks gently. “Kiri?”

She peeks up at him, and embarrassingly, feels the sting of tears. “I don't want to,” she says in a small voice. The logical Kiri in the back of her mind is mortified by her behavior, but she can't seem to bring herself to care.

“We'll see each other again soon. You know I have to go back to work eventually. There are other patients I have to tend to.” His tone is soft, and it only makes her feel worse when the tears begin to flow.

“I know,” she says miserably. “But it's not home. You're home.”

“Oh,” he says. The weight of what she just said hits him like a freight train, and she watches as it sends him reeling. “Oh.”

Zayne reaches down, pulling her up into his arms properly, holding her tight.

“Then,” he says carefully. “Do you…want to move in with me? I still won't be home quite as much, but…”

Finally free of her sickness, she cuts him off with a kiss.

His hands slide down to settle on her hips, and he returns the affection twice as fiercely.

When at last she pulls away, she nods. “Yes,” Kiri says breathlessly. “My home is where you are.”

Zayne smiles up at her, a full smile, brilliant and as blinding as fresh snow. “And my home is your heart.”

[alovelyburn]

For @megashadowdragon

Okay, so I'm not answering this Ask directly because it pastes someone's post into the question and I'm not super comfortable arguing that directly with someone who doesn't know they're being argued with. But the points included basically come down to

the Eclipse is a used to reactivate Guts' rape trauma and he is reminded of Donovan during the rape of Casca.

She tells him to look away because she knows he'll be having traumatic flashbacks to his own rape

The Eclipse is much worse when you consider that he's having flashbacks and is unable to save her from what happened to him.

Okay, I'm middling on this.

And heads-up, there's some pretty frank talk about the narrative's use of rape and such below this line, and it's presented without judgment on whether Miura's choices were good or bad writing or right or wrong morally because I'm just here to talk about what's on the page and the rest is fuel for another day.

Okay, so, I don't think he was actively thinking about/reminded of Donovan at all, because if he were, Miura would have just put that on the page. I know this is the most boring-ass possible way to answer it but it is what it is - Miura never once hesitated to twist a knife if he had one, or give an onscreen flashback so you know where things connect. So I do think he would've put it on the page.

But even if he wasn't literally thinking about it, that doesn't mean he doesn't ultimately end up having the same buttons pushed.

The thing is, bear with me here, but the actual rape by Donovan does not appear to be the primary source of Guts' trauma. He's with the mercenary band for years afterward and shows no touch aversion, he's not particularly skittish. I'm not saying it didn't traumatize him, because it very obviously did, the flashbacks are self-explanatory, but...

If we look back at the assault by Donovan, what happened to Guts is largely framed in the narrative as being about the question of whether Gambino did or did not sell him - the first thing he does the next day is go after Gambino and when he thinks Gambino didn't do it, he just kind of goes back to "normal," and then gets his revenge, and then goes back to "normal" again. Now, let me be clear... obviously he wasn't actually "normal." My point is just that the emotional core of the situation with Guts, Gambino and Donovan is actually on Guts and Gambino. And narratively, the rape itself is used to set a timer on a bomb inside that relationship that ultimately blows on the night when Gambino tries to kill him and reveals that he did, in fact, sign off on the assault... which is when most of Guts's PTSD symptoms actually begin.

What I'm saying is, ultimately what did the most damage was not the rape in itself but the fact that Gambino, who he loved and trusted, was the reason it happened. Not only does this reopen his wounds from the assault, it also spawns an inability to trust that leads him into a life of isolation and loneliness, and the two combine to manifest through his unwillingness to be physically touched by men..

To reinforce my point here, even when he had his final major flashback in the meadow scene, it took like 5 seconds for him to go from flashing back to Donovan to crying over his regrets about Gambino, which does appear to me to be the biggest wound in his life up until the Eclipse.

Now why is this all relevant, well, because Griffith's actions during the Eclipse (and the fact that he agreed to the Sacrifice to begin with) are an echo of Gambino's actions, which brings it all back.

So yes, I do think the Eclipse ultimately retraumatized him, but here's the caveat: much like the original rape by Donovan, the assault itself is traumatic, but the larger portion of the damage comes from the betrayal that allowed it. I'm not sure if that distinction is clear outside my brain though, so lemme try to explain.

Basically, it's about where you center the emotional core of the scene.

The post is suggesting that the emotional core of the scene is between Guts and Casca over this shared trauma - he's flashing back because of what's happening to her, she's trying to protect him by telling him to look away because she knows he must be suffering from flashbacks, etc., he's traumatized because he was unable to protect her, like there's a lot going on between Guts and Casca in this post.

But that's difficult for me to buy because much like the thing with Donovan is centered on Guts and Gambino, the rape in the Eclipse is clearly centered on Guts and Griffith. Casca is mostly used as a vessel for Griffith to hurt Guts with. That's so clearly the case that people get pissed off about how sidelined she is during her own rape. And, if I ask my writer brain why that was done, the answer is very obvious: it's because the emotional core of the scene is actually not on Casca at all, it's on the implosion of Guts and Griffith's relationship; specifically on Guts being betrayed by the person he loves most again, with that person again trying to kill him (or have him killed) and using rape to hurt him.

That Guts is more focused on Griffith's betrayal than anything else is also evident in how Femto's rape of Casca largely remains categorized in Guts' head as something that Griffith did, rather than something that Casca went through.

And again, I know the sidelined Casca thing bothers people, but don't pillory me, I'm just analyzing what's on the page.

Moving on - the thing about Casca saying don't look... honestly I think the reason is self-evident: she doesn't want him to see his girlfriend being raped by his best friend… and frankly, she probably doesn't want to be seen in that situation either. I don't know that it needs a bigger explanation than that.

Which brings me to the last point - the thing about the scene being worse when you realize he's having these thoughts about being unable to save her from what happened to him - I guess my comment on is that I don't think that's what he was thinking, so the conclusion doesn't apply.

That said, full disclosure, I did look up the original post and I mean, I'm trying to interpret their theory in good faith but because I'm vaguely familiar with that poster, and I remember the last line (that was left off) I just kinda... ehhh.

[rjmhereunderprotest]

Danny Chase is Still Dead: Why You Should Care That Death in Comics Doesn't Matter

Recent events have forced me to break my attempt at positivity for the moment to address something to a number of you. Specifically, the people who are using this line to try and soften/deride people's outrage over the leaks that have revealed the death of Ms. Marvel in a book that isn't even her own.

"It's Comic Books, she'll be back in six months to a year."

Yeah... shut up, that's exactly the fucking problem and also not the fucking point.

Death in comics being a revolving door is not a reason to calm down on one's outrage. Because it's the exact fucking problem plaguing comics. A symptom of a wider issue infecting the industry: Apathy. A lack of care. And when you use that line it's you saying "Stop caring about this, it's just a dumb disposable story." And in a world where comics struggle to sell, that's the worst message you can send. And it encourages the comic companies to keep doing this.

Death not mattering in a story is the single biggest death knell to any serious writing endeavor. Because if there are no consequences then none of this matters. If the story does not matter, there's no reason to be invested in it. The story dies because no one cares enough about it. Because the characters within become nothing more than chess pieces to move about the board and sacrifice when need be. There's no attachment, no emotion, no thought, no care, no reason. Just kill them. Kill them and do it so willy-nilly that people just shrug and don't even bother.

And when someone actually shows they care, who is outraged, who is invested, because they love comics, telling them "It will be fixed later" does NOTHING to solve the problem. It actively says you agree with the reasoning behind it, that none of these characters matter. That their stories don't matter. And that the companies in charge of both are given carte blanche to continue marching along in their abject apathetic corporate bullshit.

Death in comics is NOT a right of passage for characters, it is a desperate lazy method of trying to generate interest because you are creatively bankrupt. It has been that way for a very, very long time since Superman was killed off for no other reason than they had to delay their big marriage to Lois Lane storyline a full year because of a TV Show.

That's real! That's the truth! That's the reason "Death of Superman" exists. That's the reason we got stuck with Doomsday in the third act of BvS! Because "Lois and Clark" was on TV and they wanted to wait to do their big marriage issue to line up with the episode they got married in. They may have worked emotion into it, they may have tried to make it meaningful. Doesn't matter, it was done purely for corporate reasons.

And it's still ten times worse with Kamala Khan now. It is a bold-faced cynical attempt by a writer to boost sales in their much-maligned book. Using a character that has had 12 pages worth of appearances in 25 issues! Meaning, she probably was only put into the book to set up her death and they didn't even bother to properly utilize her.

Not to mention how clearly racist and misogynistic it is. Kill your prominent Muslim Women character of South Asian descent, at the end of AAPI Month, to forward the story of Peter Parker by giving him more fucking angst over a character he barely interacts with at all! She doesn't even get to headlight her death in her own fucking book, she gets killed in some other character's story she wasn't even involved in! At least if she died in Captain Marvel it would've fucking mattered because Carol has been on several adventures with Kamala at this point and is deeply protective of her! Even then it would still be shit, but not this level of shit!

It's degrading, to both the character and her fans. And it is such a plainly obvious attempt at creating MCU Synergy that no fan wants! No one wants her to be resurrected as a Mutant with those dumb energy powers! That is the one thing about MCU Kamala that everyone pretty much agrees is stupid. And frankly, it's kinda making me hate Krakoa more because forcing every character to become a mutant is not really helping anyone, it's only oversaturating the goddamn line that is already bloated with too many teenagers that most people can't keep track of anyway.

This is why people don't like this move, not because they think it's forever, but because it is so callously cynically meaningless! Because it is being done for lazy, creatively bankrupt reasons! Because it shows how little Marvel cares anymore! Pardon me for saying this, but this exact thing is why I have been disappointed with how Marvel has treated Gwenpool and why I've been so critical of their usage of her. And now, this apathy is infecting Ms. Marvel. Friding her without any semblance of thought for the sole purpose of corporate brand synergy and shock value collectors' sales boosts!

It's disgusting. And giving into this mentality of "She'll be back soon" does nothing but embolden this attitude. It encourages Marvel and other companies to continue being apathetic and treat characters as disposable. How long before they decide to kill off Miles Morales super casually? Or Moon Girl? Or America Chavez? Or Kate Bishop? Or, my greatest fear, Gwenpool? Fridge them for no good reason and declare retroactively that you were doing them a favor by making people miss them. An absolutely disgusting mindset that I am frankly appalled by.

And before you say anything in an attempt to placate me with the usual line "Well they'll still come back anyway, at least there's that." And that's why I decided to title this post the way I did. Echoing Lewis Lovhaug's own statement about death in comics and why he hates it when it is done so flippantly and without purpose.

Danny Chase is Still Dead.

Danny Chase was a member of the Teen Titans, he was an abrasive character that got on a lot of fans' nerves for being just what he was. A snot-nosed, arrogant little brat with superpowers who was a total asshole. The Quentin Quire of DC of his Time. He died to save Raven's home world Azarath. And despite some brief appearances as an undead zombie here and there he has remained dead. Why? Because people didn't like him alive... and no one cares enough to want to bring him back.

Not every character returns from the grave in comics. Gwen Stacey, the original one, remains dead. The original Captain Marvel remains dead. And a lot of ancillary secondary-tier characters do not get to return either. Kamala Khan has a good chance of coming back to life, but how good are your favorite hero's chances? Especially the lesser valued ones within the big two? Why? Because they don't care. And they don't care because we've stopped caring. Because they've gotten lazy and complacent and they've decided this is an easy method of doing business. It promotes sexist tropes, it promotes bad writing and it promotes a lack of creativity. Allowing to persist helps no one.

Do not buy ASM #26. Do not buy anything written by Nick Lowe or Zeb Wells. They've shown they don't care and we'd be better off telling them that we don't care for their apathy. Don't send death threats, and don't wish them ill. Don't harass or bully or dox or stalk. Be angry, be critical, tell them off for their behavior and lack of talent. But do not give them reasons to dismiss you by threatening them. And hit them where it actually hurts; their wallets. Show Marvel that you're not going to keep letting this go on. I know any compulsion I had to own any copies of the Spider-Man run where Felicia and Peter are canon has just been completely demolished. I have no interest in single or collected issues of this... thing anymore.

The fact is, Death being a revolving door is the problem with comics. We shouldn't dismiss it as just a thing, because it's bad storytelling. And Kamala Khan deserves better than this utter travesty of a situation. To be killed off so Peter Parker's man-pain can be justified. And then promptly forgotten, as he fights Doctor Octopus the very next month. To be murdered just so as to be brought back as another dime-a-dozen mutant with lame powers to promote a movie, that will probably be hurt by this story more than helped. To be fridged with the most sexist of tropes, in the most racist of ways, just for corporate brand synergy and to boost the sales of a badly written story no one even likes to begin with.

You can probably say I'm just angry because I sorta defended Zeb Wells recently and feel betrayed. Well, to be honest, I wasn't defending Wells, I was defending the ship his poor writing was damaging in the crossfire. SpiderCat wasn't worth throwing MJ under the bus and it most certainly isn't worth the death of a beloved comic book character that had no business being there.

This run will not be remembered fondly, Nick Lowe's tenure as editor of the Spider-Man books won't be remembered fondly, and Zeb Wells as its chief writer will not be remembered fondly. Their apathy and lack of care will stain their reputations forever as a result.

Anyway, hopefully, next time I'll have less negative things to say talking about something I actually like instead of hate. Bye for now.

[astrababyy]

I have been sort of sitting on this subject because it would be so easy for it to get taken out of context. I hope I can explain myself so that doesn’t happen and I’d like to hear your thoughts. Basically I feel like part of what made Feyre’s character special is what makes her beautiful and I think it gets lost between all the sister anti bs arguments. I do think everyone is allowed to imagine all the characters however they want but I feel like if you go by canon what makes Feyre different that her sisters beauty is her personality. I find it a bit bothersome when I see takes like -certain archeron sister is the prettiest- because canon, physically, Elain is beautiful and Nesta is stunning but what sets Feyre apart is that those that fell into an attraction for her was only after having gotten to know her. I notice Nesta and Elain have this attraction from males almost at first sight and so I think the part that Feyre doesn’t get this sort of story line was what made her unique and I really liked that. In my opinion I think all 3 sisters are attractive in their respective ways- Elain an innocent pure sort of beauty, Nesta has sexy and angry, while Feyre has a mature and quiet beauty. The last part is my opinion, everyone can imagine them how ever but I do think canon sort of gave me the impression about what stands out about Feyre and I feel like it gets lost in the whole mess that is pitting the sisters against each other that is this fandom

hello, anon! sorry for taking so long to respond to this.

this was a very sweet ask! i can see what you mean about feyre being unique in her own ways. personally, i have a preference for the person feyre was in the first book, but i can totally understand you, and many others, enjoying the character she became post-acotar. i love who nesta is as a character because i feel i relate to her more than the others, but feyre's willingness and bravery to stand up for what she believed in, in book 1 was something i admired about her character. and elain's gentle demeanor and clear progression as a character by the time we reach book 2 is something i hope is expanded on more.

i would love if you'd elaborate a bit more on your point of view, as well as if this ask if targeted at a specific post of mine (?) because i'm not exactly an account that's very pro feyre (though i don't hold anything against people who do like her). do you think that i'm a part of the group that fans the flames of the competition between the sisters? in fairness, i can see how my posts could be interpreted that way.

anyway, on some level, i do agree that this fandom has a tendency to vilify and pit the sisters against each other for the sake of their faves. i have seen some absolutely horrid takes on all sides of the aisle, justifying things their fav sister has done and putting down the other sisters in favor of blatantly flat characterizations of them in order to make their anger seem more justified.

but i also think this is a symptom of canon itself being willing to pit them against each other, rather than portraying their flaws and complex relationships in a manner that gives a clear impression that none of them are all good or all bad, but rather flawed and interesting individuals. instead of creating a poignant story on the power of sisterhood, sjm decided it would be better to pit them against each other. this isn't necessarily a bad thing. of all the people in the world, i am the last one that is opposed to drama in books lol, but the way it was done has made things... complicated.

all in all, i think the process of pitting the sisters against each other is a very mixed bag because, on one hand, the archeron sisters' being in constant competition with each other in the fandom is partially due to fans of the specific sisters, but it's also due to the inability of canon to portray a complicated dynamic between them. also, their characterizations can be all over the place. i don't think the feyre we saw in book 1 would've allowed what happened to nesta in book 3, nor would she have condoned the treatment of her sisters even as early as book 2. this could be credited to her evolution as a character, perhaps growing in confidence and vilifying her sisters because of it, but i don't see the sister who felt guilty about leaving them behind when she was forcefully taken from her home as the same sister that let the blatant disrespect of them stretch on from book 2 through book 5. this isn't just with feyre though, as i think the characterization of nesta and elain is also quite finicky and so up to interpretation by the fans.

[goat-yells-at-everything]

Op Update

So, all weekend I've had bad dreams that the new doc would refuse to do the procedure. Going into the meeting I was already anxious and reserved.

Guy walks in. Hes maybe a bit older than me but not much. He puts me off almost immediately cuse he reminds me of my brother. He starts talking and he has this hawty and arrogant air about him like he knows literally everything about everything.

He asks me whats going on and why I think I need this procedure. I reply that my normal doc and I think I have endo because I have all the hallmarks of it. "But you've never been diagnosed with it, correct?" "...no... thats what THIS procedure was kind of for...???" Because you literally CAN NOT diagnose endo without a laparoscopic procedure.

So he goes on to say how all my ultrasounds had been normal and started to talk about digestive angles to my pain. This is blatantly NOT true. The LAST scan was relatively normal but I have been diagnosed with PCOS and had cysts on previous scans. The last scan was relatively normal because they DID find a fibroid on the back of my uterus.

BUT I was civil and advised that I've had this pain for over 20 years (since I was 11-12 and I'm now turning 37) and we had already explored the digestive/gastric angle to it all. I said I'd had several upper GI scopes but before I could go on he interrupts and asks if I've had a colonoscopy. It just felt like he was trying to find any reason not to do the procedure my doctor had already agreed I needed.

So he finally says they'll set a date. I then mention the spot on my liver that we think is likely an endo deposit and he looks at me like I'm an idiot and said "but your records say your pain is on the left". Well, yes, it is on the left. The deposit is on the left side of the liver. "But the liver is in the right upper quad??" It also spans into the left upper quad. "No... no it does not. Who told you that????" ...

For reference. Here is the general anatomy of the human torso and upper abdomen [X] (its not graphic but some people may not want to see it anyway). As you can see, the liver IS mostly in the RUQ. However, it does span past the mid line and a small portion spans into the LUQ. That is where the spot is on my liver. That is where my pain has been.

Also, for reference, I LITERALLY just finished my coding class. Which included a metric FUCK TON of anatomy and terminology.

I'm not a fucking idiot.

But I think this dude may be.

So he just seems to roll his eyes at me but agrees to look. Said he didn't think he'd be able to do much as the liver bleeds heavily but day of I'm going to stress that there isn't a big point to this procedure if they dont do anything about that spot if it IS endo. I get the risks. My doc said she'd consult the on call general surgeon to help if she needed to and I'm going to insist this guy does the same.

Then, for some reason, he decides to bring up my weight. Now, again, my doc and I have been discussing this procedure for almost 6 fucking months. If my weight had been an issue she would have said something back then so I had TIME to try and do something about it. He goes on a mini tangent about how my weight may make it hard for them to inflate my abdominal cavity. He suggests it may be prudent to wait and loose weight before the procedure. Had the gall to imply it would make my symptoms better and may not need the procedure.

AGAIN

20+ years with this pain.

Where my weight has fluctuated up and down and there was no change in the pain I had.

But. Yaknow. I'm a fat idiot apparently.

But its scheduled. A week from tomorrow. Because of course it couldn't be sooner. But at least its only a short delay. It shouldn't have a huge impact on my leave. I hope anyway.

And now, weather permitting, I should be able to get pinned finally and officially "graduate" from the classroom portion of my course today.

[spider-xan]

@inky-axolotl:

100% agree. I think it’s additionally a strange conclusion to come to considering material prior to shed and Lizard’s tale has made it clear since he was introduced that even as the Lizard, Curt has some sense not to hurt his family (at least not directly). In fact, even in his mental state being askew he’s still had the instinct and sense to save Billy or protect his family even if he can’t quite remember why. It also doesn’t line up with the fact that Curt has shown time and again to be fully aware and beats himself up for the hurt he causes particularly his family as the Lizard, and works to try to prevent turning or trying to completely cure it. Depending on the adaptation, you’ll even have material where Curt will self isolate because he doesn’t want to hurt his family. It doesn’t line up well with the idea that Curt represents a domestic abuser especially of that description.

Yeah, exactly, and personally, even if the Lizard's Tale has not been quietly ret-conned out of existence, I would be hesitant to hinge my analysis on a three-issue story that directly contradicts forty years of established canon in a way that renders all of those stories and Curt's characterization into nonsense. And as much as I really hate Shed, even that story still has him trying to protect Billy like he always does even as the Lizard and his consciousness dying when he fails.

I can think of maybe two times he ended up hurting Billy prior to the 2000s when his stories really started to suck and writers seemed weirdly into him being a shitty father rivaling Norman, one of which was a choice he made while his human consciousness was in control, but that was a desperate situation where he definitely should have handled the situation better (ASM #365, like, you could have just asked, Curt!) and in the other, he was being influenced subconsciously by the Lizard and therefore not in control (Spider-Man Unlimited #19); and I wouldn't excuse them or deny he caused harm, but it's definitely not a pattern of behaviour where he is using violence to exert power in his relationships, and I would say that if we have to use a metaphor, his Lizard episodes have more in common with someone who might have a mental illness with ugly symptoms that can be scary and unintentionally hurt someone, and while that can exacerbate abuse, it's not inherently abusive in and of itself.

And yeah, like, one thing that differentiates Curt from a lot of other villains and which sets him and Peter up as foils is that he actually has a sense of responsibility - his first appearance as the Lizard in ASM #6 literally ends with him saying he'll turn himself in, and it's Peter who convinces him not to bc he didn't hurt anyone; and yeah, like you said, he's constantly trying to permanently get rid of the Lizard, make amends for what he does as the Lizard while also acknowledging there's a limit to that, sometimes does turn himself in even though he can't really be guilty if he wasn't in control of his mental state or body at the time, doesn't hold it against Martha when she does take Billy and leaves for awhile nor forces her to stay, etc. - so unless you take the Lizard's Tale at face value, the idea that he never takes responsibility for the harm he causes as the Lizard and uses it as a shield to seem sad and tragic so people will think he's innocent just does not hold up when you look at his actual actions - if anything, he does the opposite where he holds himself accountable for things he's not actually responsible for beyond that he brought the Lizard into the world, and even that was an accident.

Okay, I'm not going to elaborate on this at the moment, but I think there's a fairly popular meta commentary on this site that posits the idea that the Lizard is a metaphor for domestic violence with Connors essentially being the type of abuser who loves his victims, but is nevertheless a child abuser and engages in IPV with his wife, and who knowingly and willingly makes the choice to hurt them while using the Lizard as a shield to absolve himself of responsibility, and I understand where the meta comes from and I really enjoy this person's other Spidey meta, but I really cannot disagree more with that analysis tbh

Like, it's not even a my blorbo did nothing wrong thing bc I'm not like that with characters, even the ones I really like, and I do agree that he does end up hurting his family, but I just don't think it's supported by the text that he does it on purpose and then hides behind the Lizard as an excuse while refusing to take responsibility, and the Lizard's Tale was ret-conned out of continuity for good reason.

[aspd-culture]

what does "disregarding/ignoring/violating the rights of others" mean in aspd crit. can someone list some examples because i cannot think of anything except abuse, torture, s*xual abuse/assault (specifying cus theres also just physical assault/battery), etc (just cus its how i described my abuse/assault that happened to me and not cus i think all pwaspd are abusive lmao)

Well, yes I think we can all agree those would be included but sometimes it's more nuanced and less blatant than that. The thing about any of the above (plus stealing and stalking which also belong on that list I think) is the way it's done - little to no remorse, easily justifying it to yourself, etc. are a major part of this disorder so if someone were to do those things and have trouble being ok with the fact that they did it, then imo it wouldn't count as disregarding/ignoring their rights. With that in mind I think it becomes easier to the see the less obvious things.

Stuff like using a reserved parking space because "I got to it first" or "they don't need all these spaces", openly speaking about information told to you in confidence especially private things like medical information or outing someone as lgbt, intentionally making someone uncomfortable for your own amusement/ends, etc along those lines. Rights to privacy, solitude, peace, comfort, freedom of choice, etc are also included in this.

I talk a lot about Greg House as a [Spoiler alert for House MD seasons 1-early 6]

(diagnosed in canon) example of ASPD because there aren't many, and he's a particularly good example for this question.

Ways House violates others rights include putting a cochlear implant in someone who refused it because "he's choosing a disability which is messed up when there are many others who don't get to choose", manipulating information to get consent for procedures patients wouldn't have consented to otherwise, telling cashiers whoever he's talking to will buy his lunch and walking away immediately afterwards so they're pressured to do so, stealing SO MUCH of Wilson's food, walking into rooms not just even if the door is closed, but especially if the door is closed, encouraging/demanding his team break into patients' homes without consent including stealing their keys, going behind Wilson's back to question his exes about him, harassing multiple people who have made it clear they don't want to speak to him, turning a group of potential employees into numbers (cough cough 13 who stays that way forever by choice), making games out of both patients and employees' lives (he does this job exclusively for the pleasure of "solving puzzles", as he puts it, and is willing to break the law and violate ethics codes if it means solving the puzzle even if the patient ends up deceased for him to do so), disrespecting workplace safety practices in big and small ways, jumping his place in line for MRI/other machines and lab testing, setting up differentials in and refusing to leave others' offices to get things he wants/needs, and intentionally making everyone he employs and/or is employed by uncomfortable for the sole purpose of "making sure they're cut out to work for him" or making them worried about fighting with him so he can get what he wants, respectively, and oh yeah literally practicing medicine and sometimes surgery while high 25/8 and sometimes while hallucinating.

This is literally just off the top of my head there are so many more because it was a long time ago and if you think we are demonized now, just look back at the 2000's or before.

Out of context, any few of those may just make him selfish, a prick, or unconventional yet effective at his job, but combining that with both his feelings about doing those things (it is extremely rare that House feels any remorse and usually only if he crosses a line so badly that it risks his ability to continue his life as he knows it) and his other symptoms, you get ASPD. The fact that he has to actively try to remember others can have boundaries and deserve respect is what makes it ASPD, and means he isn't a prick or selfish, he's just struggling to understand what seems like an obvious concept to others around him.

The same goes with anyone else; these things are fairly insignificant by themselves but if its more a true personality trait (happens across multiple situations including to people you are close with and strangers etc) then it starts to hold weight as a symptom - sometimes moreso than the larger rights violations you mentioned above because hopefully those are few and far between while more minor things like this can be seen as a constant/daily thing.

Super good question and I appreciate you asking it. /gen A lot of people see that bit of criteria and jump straight to violent crime and just assume that's what it means and whilst it definitely can be, not everyone with ASPD is so disregarding of others' rights that they commit violent crimes.

[compassionatereminders]

Oh yeah, absolutely, we are on the same page! I literally couldn't give less of a fuck whether people get their self-diagnosis "right" - - blatant misdiagnoses can be dangerous as fuck when done by a professional, but the risks associated with a personal "misdiagnosis" are minimal.

In the end diagnoses are just words that express something about your experiences and behavior. It's not a medical diagnosis of the same kind as something like cancer or diabetes. That doesn't mean it's not REAL but it does imply that you can't fairly compare self-diagnosis across different types of disorders. (Disclaimer: there are also some physical diagnoses that fall into the same category, where the diagnosis is based on ruling out other causes, and having a set of symptoms).

When a professional misdiagnoses someone it can have disastrous consequences. Maybe they misdiagnose a bipolar person with depression and end up triggering a severe manic episode with certain medication. Maybe they misdiagnose something like chronic fatigue as depression, and end up worsening the fatigue by encouraging the "depressed" person to push through the fog and fatigue to the detriment of their health...

Meanwhile similar misdiagnoses could occur in self diagnosis, but usually they wouldn't be harmful, and they might get the person closer to the right resources/answers. Someone with bipolar will surely still benefit from community resources geared at depression, and honestly, so will the person with ME/CFS - and all the same, both of them are likely to realize that their experiences actually don't 100% line up with what's expected, which will lead to further exploration.

A professional diagnosis has to get it relatively right in the first go, not to cause potential damage, while self-diagnosis can be more of an exploration without causing harm.

Ofc having access to a good-enough professional diagnosis and treatment + accommodations is great for many things, and often preferable. Nevertheless, it's not always accessible, and in some instances, it's not worth the risks associated with having it on official paper.

So yeah that's a lot of words to say that yes... Ofc we should rather welcome people who self diagnose. And we should also not shame people who find out maybe that wasn't it afterall.

Beyond all the categories, the important thing people are generally trying to communicate is something to the effect of "life is fucking tough for me", and "here's my best guess as to why" - and I am not going to be gate keeping compassion and support based on whether they claim to have an official paper stating that they are, indeed, suffering in this particular manner.

God knows there's enough gatekeeping to receive medical or psychological support..... let's not start gatekeeping human compassion for human suffering, jfc...

Uh, tldr, yeah, I agree :P

Listen to my friend! He is wise and I can cosign every point he makes